


Monsters of Asgard 2.0

by OkieDokieLoki



Series: Monsters of Asgard [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Intersex Loki, M/M, Mpreg, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Parent Loki, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkieDokieLoki/pseuds/OkieDokieLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers AU where Loki is forced to wear his Jotunn form and Thor does something incredibly rash that changes him forever. Will he be able to accept his past and his new way of life or will his criminal brother get him to see what has always been in front of him?</p><p>This is a more-fleshed out version of the original story with lots of Parent!Loki. He kind of ran away with me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the promised 2.0 version of "Monsters of Asgard". Some of the elements have changed because, well, characters ran away from me, as they tend to. You do not have to have read the original "Monsters of Asgard" to understand what is happening in this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

The Allfather stood straight and proud, any emotion purged from his face. The single eye of the Allfather, his own father, bore into the war criminal that he had brought back from Midgard. The war criminal that had been his younger brother, before he had taken the responsibility of ruling in their father’s absence too seriously, attempting to destroy Jotunnheim. He then Fell, only to attempt to conquer Midgard for no reason besides that he felt that he needed a throne. Said war criminal was currently laughing maniacally at the gathered attendees of the Thing.

Odin slammed the butt of Gungnir onto the dais silencing the crazed man that had been his brother. The dark-haired man fell silent, though an arrogant smirk played about his thin lips. Their father began, his voice deep and rich with enchantment,“I, Odin Borson, King of Asgard, and All-Father of the Nine Realms, hereby declare Loki Laufeyson an exile of Asgard and I cast you out. For your crimes against the humanity of Midgard and Jotunnheim, I sentence you to spend twenty-five years living on Jotunnheim. I also release you from the enchantments binding you to any form but your true self until you learn the importance of all life. This is the sentence of the All-Father, so mote it be.”

He flinched, his mother sobbed beside him. Loki laughed, his pale complexion deepening to a midnight blue, chased with silvery lines; his crazed eyes flooding with crimson.


	2. Chapter1

_Twenty-five years_. Twenty-five years was such a long time. So much had happened in twenty-five years. He had shaken his insanity, most of which was caused by his suddenly and surprisingly revealed heritage. The first couple of years had been rough, filled with self-loathing, pain and danger. The Jotunn were not pleased to discover who he truly was and what he had done. However, he eventually, through small tricks and favors to prove his usefulness, found a place in the court of his younger half sibling, Helblindi. He discovered the truth that had been hidden from him as a child: Underneath their terrifying exterior and foreign culture, the Frost Giants were the same as the Aesir or any other race for that matter.

His de-spelling finally solidified into it’s current state at about the two year mark. So many things that separated him from his Aesir family and Thor’s friends were revealed to have purpose and meaning to his true people. His dark hair was the only color possessed by the Frost Giants, though many opted to shave their heads to allow the sensitive ridges there to operate fully (The ridges served many purposes: filling with and channelling ice, sensing even the smallest stirrings of air, and, if stroked properly, a near orgasmic effect which usually led to intercourse). His headaches were caused by his suppressed horns, which had ironically grown to resemble his helm. His seidr, a womanly art among the Gods, was revered among the Jotunn, giving him the position he craved, but had stunted his growth, making him a runt, half the height of the other adult giants around him. His aversion to extreme heat was rather obvious, ice literally flowing through his body through the patterned ridges and heritage lines. His dislike of overcooked food was due to his digestive tract, which had not tasted a single cooked item in twenty-five years. His attraction to both sexes to the point of utter confusion during adolescence revealed the deepest secret of the Jotunn - their lack of gender and the combination of both sets of sexual organs. A secret that he would carry to the grave, his days of giving and taking pleasure past, due to his minuscule stature among his own kind and his combined sexuality among those of his adopted family.

Now his sentence was complete and, while leaving Jotunnheim was almost painful, he felt compelled to return to Asgard. The Jotunn were in need of an ambassador, an Aesir of sorts who understood them and who would fight to restore the dying realm to it’s former glory. He was the obvious candidate. His appearance among the Aesir would cause alarm, he was certain, but he needed to see his family and he needed to help his true people. Twenty-five years was a long time. In fact, he was surprised that his brother had not come to rescue him long before now. Maybe Thor had truly changed on Midgard, his rash decision-making replaced by reason. Either way, he was going home, he could feel it in his bones.

_ _ _ _ _ _

 _Twenty-five years_. Twenty-five long years ago today, his world had changed. His brother (adopted, but still), had been sentenced to Jotunnheim and had become one of those monsters before his very eyes. So he had done what any sensible Aesir male would do: He found the dingiest, shadiest pub in the golden city and got wasted.

After he had become thoroughly drunk, he had found the first busty barmaid who was relatively willing to lay with a prince ( _The_ prince) and had, of course, sewn his oats. He had treated her poorly, taken his rage out upon her in his sodden state, mounting her as one would an animal and thrusting into her harshly from behind. It was shameful, he knew now, but then in his stupidity, drunkenness, and rashness he felt that it was in his _right_ as the heir apparent to dominate her in his grief over the lost of his brother to the creatures of Jotunnheim. It was only after he had laid with the lady that he realized his true mistake.

She lay before him on the ruined mattress, halfway off the bed, a head wound bleeding profusely from when he had thrust too hard, her head colliding with the headboard in his haste. It was as his own horrendous behavior was becoming clear to him that the woman he had molested revealed her hand.

“You _monstrous BEAST!_ " she had shrieked, her hands sweeping down her body and dropping her homely glamour to reveal a beautiful Light Elf. “You think you can take whatever you want without recompense?! A true _creature_ , ruled by your **base** nature.”

 Her now languid and beautiful body unfolded from the stained mattress, her hands sparkling with seidr. His eyes widened, terror setting in now, Mjölnir safe back at the palace, just out of his reach. “I-My Lady, I was wrong to use you in such a debasing way,” he stammered, hands raised. “Please-” he knelt, “I beg of you. Forgive me...forgive me.”

She stood over him, her eyes flashing. “Never - _monster_. Beast I dub the, so beast you shall be! A hideous being until all see you for what you are, the way you should have been born. Until humanity and godliness suits your ugly soul.”

He remembered nothing after until the following morning. The day was hot, too hot for early May. His bed sheets were rumpled and torn as if by a knife, his body ached and his mouth was dry. His hangover was the worst it had ever been, he couldn’t even stand to make his way to the bathing chamber off his bedroom. He had crawled, eyelids and head heavy, the light of the sun shining far too brightly for his taste.

All was forgotten when he had reached his destination. A beast he had become, just as the witch had declared him. His hands, strong and calloused, worthy to wield the mighty Mjölnir, had become paw-like, coated in dirty-blonde and gold fur, the palm now a rough pad, the fingers, shortened and tipped with vicious claws. His feet resembled those of a wolf or a lion, his heels forced up into the air. It took weeks for him to gain enough balance to walk on his toes, the scratch of the claws becoming a sound that accompanied every step. Even then, it was just easier to walk on all fours, like the animal he truly was. He had sprouted a tail between his buttocks, long, shaggy fur over every inch of his once pristine body, and sensitive, tufted ears on the top of his head, poking out through his thick, golden mane. His jaws and nose thrust forward into a short, wrinkled snout with an underbite, two brutish fangs poking out over his upper lip in a perpetual scowl. Only his eyes remained unchanged, still a clear, shining blue.

He had sequestered himself in his rooms after that. Bilskirnir was only accessed by his parents, disappointed in his wrong decision and their rather poor luck of having two monsters for children, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, who visited only when forced by the royal couple, and one mute servant who laundered his clothes, cutting holes in his breeches for his tail to pass through and repairing his ragged scarlet cloak, and brought his meals, primarily raw meats still warm and bleeding from the kill as very little else sat well in his creature stomach.

Yes, twenty-five years was an awfully long time and today marked the return of the only person whose opinion of him really mattered, the only person that he longed for in his current state, the man who had never really stopped being his younger brother. The man, he vowed, whom would never see him this way.


	3. Chapter 2

When the Bifrost deposited him in the golden Observatory of the Watcher, the first thing he noticed was heat. His skin, so used to the comfortable cool of Jotunnheim nearly sizzled with the vast difference in temperature. With a soft murmur, he increased his seidr to quicken the flow of the ice along the ridges of his skin, helping to cool his body. The second thing he noticed was the blinding light of it all. Jotunnheim, in her half-deceased state, had no sun. The light of the land came from the aurora borealis and the single moon that hung in the sky. Blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusted to the shining, glittering gold that surrounded him and found the man and the woman who had raised him.

Bowing deeply as he kneeled reverently, he uttered, “My King, my Queen. I have completed my sentence and have returned to you. I await your final judgement and humbly ask that you accept my position as ambassador to the Frozen Realm.” He pressed his right fist over his heart in a sign of fealty, hoping beyond hope that it was enough.

“Rise, Loki Laufeyson, ward of Asgard. Your sentence is ended and your new position is finalized.” He raised his horns in disbelief, his unsettling eyes alighting on the man whom had spoken before flickering to the woman beside him. She beamed, clearly delighted that he had survived and learned from his time on Jotunnheim, and opened her arms to him.

Forgetting all sense of propriety, he rose quickly and raced into her arms. “Mother,” he breathed into her pale neck, causing her to shiver against his cold embrace.

“Loki,” she replied, stepping back and taking his face in her hands, studying it thoroughly. Her eyes lingered on his horns, tracing them as well as the heritage lines that carved into his navy skin. Finally, she met his eyes, her own filled with nothing but love and joy, and murmured, “How I have missed you, my precious boy.”

He smiled back at her, his lips pressed together to hide his mouth full of fangs. “And I you, Mother,” he breathed.

His eyes left her face to scan the circular chamber. Heimdall was at his watch, his golden eyes scanning the horizon and beyond, protecting the realms. The King of Asgard also stood nearby, allowing the two of them a bit of privacy in their reunion. He looked weary but relatively pleased. A lesson learned, a sentence served, and an ambassador gained for the world that none really wanted to visit. He gave Loki a small nod before moving off towards the entrance.

“Where is Thor?” he asked, his gaze falling back onto his mother’s face. It fell, her eyes not meeting his.

“Twenty-five years is a long time, Loki,” she began, grabbing his hand and walking them towards the entrance and the horses that awaited them outside. “Thor did not take your banishment, however temporary, well. He has been facing a punishment of his own, one that no one appears to be able to break. He has locked himself in Bilskirnir and refuses to leave, only allowing a few to enter.”

His brow furrowed, pulling at his horns. “May I see him?” he queried.

“If he will see you,” Odin replied, already seated upon Sleipnir. “There is but one person, a mute maid, that sees him daily. As his parents, we practically have to beg him for entry. The Warriors Four are even less lucky, though they don’t appear to mind as much.”

“Why?” he asked, quieting the horse that had been brought for him. It was not pleased by it’s given rider, his monstrous form nor his unfamiliar scent.

“Thor is changed, Loki. He has no ambition, he is without a plan. A navigator lost at sea in a storm, no star to follow,” Frigga explained in metaphor. She suddenly smiled. “You may be just the direction he needs, Loki.”

“But I am nothing but a Frost Giant runt. If I have learned anything in my time on Jotunnheim, it is how small and relatively insignificant I am.” He had finally gotten the horse to accept him and climbed into the saddle, the leather chafing against the bare skin of his calves and worrying the ridges that resided there.

“Those that people think nothing of are sometimes capable of doing the most remarkable things,” his mother, in all her wisdom proclaimed with a bright smile. She spurred her mount forward and he quickly followed, mulling over her latest proclamation and wondering what it had to do with his older brother.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He smelt him long before he heard him. His nose, a rather poor mixture between his Aesir nose and the snout of a lion or bear, was his most sensitive feature in this form that he had inhabited for so long. He inhaled again, lingering on the hints of Loki through the odor of the Frost Giant: the well-worn book pages and candle wax hung about the edges of the stench of winter and death.

The footsteps, still light and graceful had now taken on a feature that he himself knew well: the clatter of claws on marble and the skitter as they ricochetted off the polished stone. He was coming this way, towards Bilskirnir and towards him.

He moved quickly, ducking into a shadowed alcove behind a thick curtain where he could watch his younger sibling and pass unnoticed by the other man. There was a knock, followed by the sweetest sound he had heard in the last twenty-five years. “Thor?” The sound of his name leaving his brother’s lips was music in his darkness, deep yet crystalline, floating through the air like the most beautiful melody. “Thor, may I come in?”

He held his breath, not responding, waiting for Loki’s next move. As he suspected, a closed and bolted door did nothing to deter the determined God of Mischief. With an echoing click, the bolt slid back and the door swung open, squeaking on it’s little-used hinges. “Thor?” the voice came again as blue fingers, tipped in slightly curved ebony claws wrapped around the edges of the door.

Accompanied by the scratch of claws, Loki strode into the room, waving the door shut behind him with a resounding clang. Thor’s breath caught. The Jotunn that stood before him was not the same one that had been shipped off to Jotunnheim. This one was the same height and slim build, yes, but his hair hung in a long, thick braid, tumbling down his back to stop just above his coccyx. A pair of majestic and arching horns, like those found on the Muspelheim demons, erupted from his brow, reminiscent of his ceremonial helm. He wore little, only a loincloth slung low about his hips, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that. The silvery lines that did Norns’ know what, glowed with a faint silvery light in the gloom of the room, the windows boarded and covered with tapestries to keep out prying eyes. The younger man’s eyes were no longer clouded by insanity but were sharp and intelligent once more, scanning the foyer and no doubt noticing the changes that the room had undergone: the deep gouges in the walls, the broken and smashed furniture, and the shattered objects. In one sense, Loki looked dangerous and powerful amid the ruin; the other, he was simply beautiful, an angel amid the chaos.

“Thor,” he breathed, softer than a whisper, “What happened to you?” He gave no response, watching the small Frost Giant intently. His nostrils, still the same as they had been before the reveal of his true heritage, flared as he inhaled deeply. Thor’s brow wrinkled. _Jotunn scent things too?_ No doubt the blue man was being assaulted by his cloying, wet dog smell. There was really nothing else in this blasted self-imposed prison to pick up on. The ruby eyes widened and then flickered about quickly, still unable to find him in the darkness.

“Well, seeing as you apparently do not wish to welcome your once-brother home, I shall be going.” The Jotunn turned on his heel and strode towards the door. Hand, still slim with long, sorcerer’s fingers, paused on the handle, he turned his head back and addressed his alcove directly. _He knows I’m here!_ he thought frantically, wondering what he would do if Loki changed his course and did not leave him be. Instead the other man gave a small, reassuring smile, revealing that his mouth was full of rather savage looking fangs, and tenderly said, “I will be back on the morrow, Thor. Maybe you will be will to at least speak with me then.” With that, the massive doors to Bilskirnir were opened and the blue man exited, head high and proud, strides purposeful.

Thor, alone again, slid down the stone wall behind him to sit on his haunches, his tail wrapping around the front of his feet. Raising a paw-like hand, he rubbed his misshapen face and growled. “What am I to do now?”


	4. Chapter 3

“Alright, Thor,” he projected into the now familiar hall of Bilskirnir, “It’s been a week. I know that you hear me, I know that you’ve been watching my every move. How about you say something before I come looking for you. It’s not fair that you may gaze freely upon my hideous form while I have seen and heard nothing from you.” He summoned a ball of fire in his claws and held it aloft, spinning around slowly. “You have exactly ten seconds to say something or I will launch this light and find you in whatever condition you happen to be in, whether you want to be seen or not.”

He heard a sharp inhale from behind the only non-shredded tapestry in the hall. Trying to hide a smirk at his brother’s predictability, he looked anywhere but there, wanting to give the other man the sense that he had the upper hand. As his internal clock wound down to one, he heard a growly voice that resembled the one that his older sibling possessed before his banishment. “Leave me in peace, Loki.”

He smirked, the fangs on the right side of his mouth flashing in the light of his fireball as he cocked an eyebrow. “Well, it is delightful to hear your voice after all these years, Thor,” he chuckled. “Now that we’re talking to each other, shall we talk further about what it means to be a monster among Gods? After all, we are in the same boat, are we not? Or have you just been cursed to smell like a wet dog?”

“I mean it, Loki,” the rumbling voice of the Thunderer replied. “Go. Away.”

He banished the ball of flame with a wave of his hands and held them up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, darling Brother. I will leave you alone - for now. I’ll see you later, though. We’re having dinner together tonight.” He crowed with laughter as he practically skipped from the room, delighted to be making progress with the once-Aesir whether the other man wanted it or not.

He quickly traversed the halls, his blue form still causing a bit of distress among the populace of Asgard, and ducked into his mother’s private sitting room. Frigga was sitting with her lady’s maids, spinning and gossiping. The maids froze when he entered, their eyes widening as one of the ladies released a surprised squeak. He bowed deeply, smiling with his lips pressed together kindly.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Ladies, but I was wondering if I could speak with my Mother alone.” The women quickly rose and curtsied, first to him and then to the Queen of Asgard, and swept, en masse, out of the room. He rose, his eyes meeting the stormy grey orbs of the woman who had raised him. “I apologize, Mother, for interrupting your gathering.”

She smiled brightly at him, scooting over and patting the settee beside her. “Of course not, Loki. Please, have a seat. We’ll talk.”

He smiled back, allowing his fangs to be revealed in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner, and sat beside her, leaving a gap between them. He did not want to freeze the woman, especially since she still viewed him as her child. “I went to see Thor again today.”

Her smile faded a bit, as her brow furrowed. “Did he respond to you?”

His smile got wider. “After a bit of prompting, yes he did.” Her face melted with delight, her hands coming to cover his with a gentle squeeze.

“That is wonderful news! What did he say?”

“He told me to leave and that he meant it.” He laughed, throwing his head back in mirth. “So I told him that I would be back and that we would be eating dinner together.”

Her face fell. “Is that such a good idea? After all, he spoke to you, that does not mean that he wants to eat with you.”

“Mother,” he said calmly, “He needs to realize that sitting in his own misery over a stupid mistake for twenty-five years is not going to do him any good. It is not going to break his curse if he will not allow anyone to see him except for you and father.” He shifted, turning a bit in his seat to look at his Mother in the eye. “I am only trying to help, give him the jump start that he needs. After all, he cannot go on pretending that he is the only monster living in these gilded halls. If anyone can understand me, it is Thor. And if anyone can understand Thor, it is me.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

The mute maid came first, bearing a tray of food that was overloaded with raw meat, bones, and scraps of organs and body parts that the cooks couldn’t do anything with. His mouth began to water, his underbite doing little to stop the drool from leaking out of his maw. He licked his chops, eyeing the platter hungrily.

Once the maid left, he quickly scurried to the table and clambered into one of the two chairs, wondering where Loki’s food was. He hurriedly pushed the thought aside. The Jotunn was not here at the moment, and, if he was lucky, he would arrive after he had consumed everything on the platter that his stomach allowed him to. He reached forward and snatched a bit of horse liver from the pile and stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth with a contented growl.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome fellow?” He froze, the fur of his ruff and along his spine rising warily. He sniffed, the hint of winter reached his nostrils, though his meal was blocking most of the scent. _Norns damn you, Loki_. He sighed.

“Go away, Loki,” he growled.

The clicking of the other man’s claws on the marble sounded as he rounded the table and sat almost primly opposite him, a large, obnoxious smile plastered onto his face. “Hello Thor.” He glowered back, wanting to swipe the smug expression from the blue being’s face. The Jotunn gestured with one hand as the other reached over and grabbed a bone. “That’s not so bad, Thor, in all honesty. What is it: a cross between a lion, a wolf, and a man? It’s a good look.”

He stuck the bone into his mouth and bit down on it, crunching through the it and sucking out the marrow as he chewed. “It’s nice to have someone on the same diet too. We could start a program: The Monsters Who Lunch. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”

“Shut up, Loki,” he growled back, baring his considerable teeth.

The Jotunn swallowed and growled back, his rows of sharp teeth displayed menacingly. “Two can play at that game, Brother,” he replied, his eyes glowering darkly. He grabbed a mutton chop and stuck it wetly into his mouth.

He placed his rather massive paw-hands on the table and leaned forward. He knew that he was considerably larger than the slim Jotunn runt, hoping that intimidation would get the other man to leave him in his lonely misery. Loki stood, leaning forward as well, seidr playing at the fingertips of his left hand as an ice dagger manifested itself in his right. “Don’t push it, Thor,” he muttered darkly. “Because I can return it, tenfold. I survived and thrived the wastes of Jotunnheim where _everything was larger than me_. You are positively _tiny_ in comparison.”

He sighed, and sat back, regretting the action immediately as his tail was pinched in the process. Shifting to release the unhappy appendage, he grumbled, “Now you see me, Brother.”

The Jotunn’s brow furrowed and cocked his head slightly as he chewed slowly. “Thor, I have _always_ seen _you_. Just as, I hope, you see me.”

He too, cocked his head, his ears laying flat against his skull. “I do see you, Loki.”

The other man beamed around his full mouth, a bit of blood caught in the corner of his lips. With a chuckle, he reached forward and snatched another item off the platter.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is where things were beginning to deviate from the original publication.

Life fell into a routine, just as he liked it. His mornings and early afternoons were filled with meetings, discussions of policy, and public panels and rallies in support of the Jotunn cause. Progress was being made slowly, much to his delight, and the delight of the Jotunnheim court, to whom he reported regularly. His afternoons and early evenings were spent with his not-so brother, his visit concluding with dinner, where neither of them had to worry about disgusting the Aesir with their unsavory diets.

The afternoons and evenings led to revelations. It took a while for Thor to confess what had caused his transformation, and, while turning a man into a beast seemed rather extreme, he was horrified by the actions Thor had taken. Loki, in turn, shared his early years on Jotunnheim where he had lied and cheated his way into his half-sibling’s court, killing to prove his worth and to avoid his own execution. Other, far less deep, conversation topics were breached, of course. Thor shared his walking lessons, complete with recreating his stumbling steps. He, in turn, had shared the multitude of times that he had nearly been stepped on, a midget living in the land of giants.

It was in those hours spent with Thor, something began to grow within his cold and icy chest. The rather hairy man was not his relation, he never was, and so, he did not feel badly about allowing the tender emotions to grow. Something told him that the Thunderer was beginning the warm to him as well. Yesterday, Thor had even given him what could only be classified as a smile, though it was certainly a bit frightening to see at first.

He strode into the hall, not even bothering to knock, allowing the bang of the door to announce his arrival. “Thor?” he called, scanning the entry hall and not finding the large, shaggy man.

“Sitting room!” came the gravely reply. He quickened his pace and whirled into the room with a shy smile on his face. Thor was perched, as was his wont, on an arm chair, his claws poking holes in the ruined cushion. He was occupied with his favorite pastime. His animal-like hand traced the handle and head of Mjölnir tenderly, his eyes, still very much his impossibly blue orbs, gazing at the hammer so lovingly. Loki’s eyebrows knitted, wondering if, one day, the other man would look upon _him_ that way, with such love that the worlds seemed to revolve around it.

Thor’s eyes, not leaving the weapon for an instant, grew sorrowful. “Can a monster be worthy?” his rough voice asked, as if to himself and not to the other monster who stood there beside him.

His mouth opened slightly, surprised by the depth of the question posed by his once immature brother. He had asked himself a similar question multiple times, coming to so many different answers over time. Answers, and other questions. He inhaled sharply. “What is a monster?” he replied quietly, taking in the form of the other man. While he was covered in golden fur, walking about on animal hindquarters or all fours, and ate with a snout, the being before him was still very much Thor, God of Thunder, heir apparent to the throne of Asgard. He was noble and kind, though quick to anger and prone to rashness. He fought to protect the people of the Nine from others, including himself, misguided though he was. Thor would forever be the shining pinnacle above him, causing him to live in the shadow of greatness. That greatness belonged to a man, not a monster, no matter his exterior.

Despite his swirling thoughts that pointed to the contrary, he straightened and looked fixedly at the other man. “Aren’t we _all_ monsters, to some extent, Thor?” He cocked his head and waited for his not-brother’s take.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“What is a monster?” The question in response to his own about worthiness gave him pause and pulled his attention from Mjölnir, the glorious hammer that he had been unable to lift since that night twenty-five years ago. He closed his eyes thinking about the question. Wasn’t _he_ a monster? He certainly looked like one. He had acted like one before this form was thrust upon him and had wallowed in his misfortune ever since.

“Aren’t we _all_ monsters, to some extent, Thor?” That gave him pause. The Jotunn who stood before him had as subject a past as he did, and yet, since his return, he had a very heroic view of the man. He was viewed as a monster, yes, his skin that beautiful deep azure and painted with intricate silver lines as the creature that parents scared their children with in ghost stories and tales. But he could not be one, not in his kindness and compassion. News of his work for the people he had once tried to destroy had even reached his sequestered hall, drifting upon the breeze about the palace and the city.

“I think we all have done things that others can view as monstrous but does that, in turn, make men into monsters?” he replied, his eyes meeting the bright rubies that belonged to his younger brother. The horned man gave a small smile.

“I believe that forgiveness and second chances are what make us human.” His smiled widened. “This is a much deeper conversation than I was planning on having today, but -” He paused, becoming serious, “I am glad that you trust me enough to have it.”

He chuckled in an odd, rumbly purr. “As you said upon your return, Loki. We are alike, you and I. There is no one else I can talk to about-” He sighed, gesturing over his inhuman body, “This.”

Loki closed the gap between them, standing before him, a hand’s breath away. There was something that was written across the ridged face, an emotion that he couldn’t place. He found himself lost in the deep scarlet eyes and missed the other man’s movements.

A hand, cool but not icy, came to rest on his shoulder. He flinched, his head whipping around to stare at the thin, blue hand. It was the first touch from another being that he had had since that night twenty-five years ago.

The hand flexed, claws gently pricking his skin. “Thor,” the silver tone murmured, “ _You_ are not a monster. You never have been, you never will be.”

He looked up at the horned man, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Neither are you, Loki.” The blue face smiled sadly, the horns tilting slightly to the left. The hand left his shoulder and caught the first tear as if fell, soaking his coat as the cold thumb brushed along what had been his cheek.

“Thank you,” the Jotunn breathed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Do you think the prophesy will come true, my dearest Lord?” Frigga asked, perched on the arm of Hlidskialf.

“Of which prophesy do you speak?” her husband intoned, his gaze distant, watching the two boys that they had raised at their supper, secretive smiles playing at their lips.

“You know which, Odin. The one that the Norns foretold at the blessing Loki when he was a babe.”

“Ah,” the Allfather breathed. “ _Monsters of men and men of monsters driven apart in difference will find their common ground to allow peace to bloom and love to take root between two warring peoples_.” His eye swiveled to find her with a smile. “We may only hope, my darling. Only time will tell us if this is fulfilling the prophesy.”

She smiled happily, turning her gaze back to her two sons in her eldest’s chambers. They looked happy, content in their similar but different states of un-Aesir, laughing at they tossed what she considered to be table scraps into the each other’s fanged mouthes. They looked like her little boys again, one gold, the other black. The sun and the moon. Heat and Cold. The Warrior and the Scholar. Two sides of the same coin, as it always has been and as she hoped it always would be.

_ _ _ _ _

That would not do. It would not do at all. Tjuserska, as her people called her, shattered her looking glass in disgust. Her curse, cast nearly twenty-six years ago, was _supposed_ to hold. Supposed to keep the heir of Asgard imprisoned in his animalistic monster body until no one would want him - _could_ want him - and she would offer herself, becoming Queen of the Aesir. All powerful and with a literal dog on his chain beside her. The King, incapable of ruling due to his own hideousness and self-consciousness, could only leave the ruling of the Nine realms in her hands. Her overly capable and qualified hands. Hands that would bring the worlds to their knees.

But that pesky Jotunn runt - a monster in it’s own right - had waltzed into the Prince’s despair and had accepted him in his grotesque form despite it’s coarse fur, slobbery jowls, claws and tail. It was not something that she had calculated for.

Spinning away from the shattered glass, she stormed to her workbench and called her grimoire to her. There had to be something, somewhere, that could eliminate the Frost Giant threat, send him back into the Winter from whence he came. Or even something to draw him away from her future lapdog.

 _That’s it_ , she realized, a smirk tugging at her lips. _**That** is it!_

_ _ _ _ _

The sun washed over him, still a bit warm despite his ridges running ice through them at maximum rate, woke him at dawn. He rolled to his stomach with a groan, upset that he had not closed the shades the previous evening, but the evening breeze had been so nice...

Unable to stop himself, he thought about the previous evening. He had finally coaxed his not-brother outside his rooms. Of course, it had just been onto his balcony, but it had felt like a victory. Especially after Thor sucked in a trembling inhale, moved by the vast expanse of Asgard that stretched before him beneath the glittering stars. “See what you’ve been missing?” he had murmured, flashing a fang-y smile at the other man. “This is all yours, Prince of Asgard.”

Thor’s shifted face did not emote well, the muzzle getting in the way, but, in the moonlight that glinted off the tears at the corner of the other man’s sky blue eyes, he knew that the older man had missed the view. Or maybe he simply missed being treated like nothing had changed, like he was still Thor. In his own ruby eyes, he was.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the larger, furred body leaned into his cool, hairless expanse, his paw-like hand, with it rough pads, covering his own. It was then that he realized that his once-older brother no longer felt like his sibling to him. Thor had become something so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tjuserska is Swedish for Enchantress


	6. Chapter 5

It had been twenty-six years since he had woken in this form. There were nights that he had dreamt that he had never changed, that he would wake up in his more tasteful, less furred body. And yet, the sun still shone, the worlds still turned, and he remained...hairy. He blinked in the morning sun and uncurled his body like a dog or a cat would. He stretched, hooking his claws on the edge of his headboard while stepping back with his haunches, feeling his back pop satisfactorily. Today, Loki had promised to come earlier so that they could celebrate his first year of freedom together before he left again for Jotunnheim, with a newly drafted peace treaty of his own design for the people of the Frozen Realm as well as the Casket, on the morrow. He would remain there for six months, returning before winter truly set in and made Jotunnheim icebound.

He felt rather selfish, wanting the blue man, his not-brother, to remain with him in Asgard instead of going back to his true people, however temporarily. But, unlike himself, Loki had accepted his new lot in life and his position among both of his peoples. One that was worthy of a prince of two realms. He would be loathe to keep Loki from fulfilling his destiny, his greatness, that he knew was always there. He just wished that he had the courage to be like the younger god, to stride among the Aesir with even the illusion of confidence in his monstrous skin.

It was one thing to be himself within his hall, his ill-luck witnessed only by his parents, ‘brother,’ and the silent maid. Even during visits with the Warriors Four, he had remained hidden from their sight, speaking to them from behind a curtain or tapestry and weaving lies that would make Loki blush. Lies about why he was hiding away in Bilskirnir, ashamed of his face and body and how he came to look the way he did.

He went through his toilet quickly, bathing and even attempting to brush the matted fur that covered his frame with middling success. It was all in an effort to mark the occasion, and to reveal something that he had been hiding for many months now. Something that could end poorly for him if the other man was disgusted by it.

As the sun crept upwards and his midday meal was brought, Thor began to worry. He paced, claws clicking across the marble of the foyer as his two hands functioned as front legs, the four points rooting him to the ground. He muttered, grumbled, and growled about his stupidity for trusting the God of Lies, for allowing the blue Trickster to wiggle into his life in such away. To grab his heart and yank it from his bestial chest, finally ending his misery and securing his spot on the throne of Asgard. A Frost Giant ruling the Aesir.

A soft knock sounded on his door, causing him to stop and spin to face it, a growl held low in his throat. “Thor?” the worried voice of his mother called through the door. “Thor, Darling. Please come quickly. Loki has taken ill. He is asking for you.”

Not waiting for the woman to finish, he ripped the bolt back and threw open the massive doors as if they weighed nothing at all. “Will he be alright?” he asked, towering over the small Aesir woman as he stood on his hind legs, his hands bracing the doors open.

“I have never seen whatever sickness he has contracted,” she confessed, evidence of tears staining her fair facade. “He is feverish, refuses to eat, and cannot conjure ice. He moans constantly and writhes about on his bed, clawing at himself. His body almost appears to be shifting through the fever in subtle ways. When he is coherent, it is only when he says your name or hears another say it.”

“How long has he been like this?” he asked, worry settling into the pit of his stomach.

“The maid came into his chambers at mid-morning and found him in his current state. I would assume the it struck sometime in the night.” She wrung her hands, tears threatening to overflow her eyes again. “Thor, I know that I cannot ask this of you, but, please-”

Not waiting to hear the completion of her request, he leapt forward, leaving the safety of his hall for the first time in twenty-six years, and raced on all fours through the gilded halls of the palace. He was certain that he was terrifying the palace staff, visiting dignitaries, and warriors of the realm as he tore through the halls, his claws skittering on the marble and getting caught on the carpets. He slid around corners, his massive shoulders slamming into the opposite walls due to his lack of traction on the stone, and stumbled over the transitions from stone to carpet.

He was grateful that the doors to his not-brother’s hall were open as he slowed his torrid pace. He skidded to a stop, attempting to dig his claws into the marble with little success, and face planted rather ungracefully at his father’s feet. Odin looked down at him, rather bemused, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Thor,” he intoned. “Glad that you could join us. I think Loki will be glad to see you.”

Feeling slightly like a child when he been caught playing with Gungnir, he picked himself up and rose to his feet with a bit of a shake, his fur shifting along his broad back. He loomed over the ruler of Asgard, a fact that made him want to bow his head further as he began to feel the eyes of the healers and servants focus on him and hear the murmured questions. _Thor. Did you hear Thor? I think he said Thor. That is not Thor. That is a hideous thing. A monster. How did it get it? Why hasn’t the Allfather struck it down? Is it Thor?_ The whispers, something that he had never been the brunt end of, made him want to curl up into himself and disappear.

He refocused, his eyes looking down on his father intently, his fingers and claws flexing. “What must I do, my King?” he asked, the whispers caused his ears to swivel about, chasing them before flicking back to the Allfather.

“I have cleared the room. Go to him, but be wary. He is not himself.” His brow furrowed, worried by the other man’s implication that Loki was not in his right mind. He experienced a quick flashback to Midgard during Loki’s assault and sent a prayer to the contrary Norns that the Jotunn had not returned to his homicidal state. The shorter man must have picked up on his train of thought because he quickly interjected, “It is not what you think. He’s in what is referred to as Heat. It’s completely natural for the Jotunn.”

“How often does this occur?” he asked, concerned. Jotunn and heat did not coincide.

“It differs. Depends on the individual. Come along. Best not keep him waiting.” He inclined his head towards the horned man’s bedroom.

He walked, a bit uneasily on his ‘back’ legs, beside Odin and into the blue man’s bed chamber. “Loki,” the older god called from beside him, “Thor is here to see you.”

“Thor?” a rougher version of Loki’s silver voice floated through the air, followed by a thick swallow. “Thor?”

The Allfather nudged him forward towards a rumple of sheets and pillows on the bed. “Go,” he whispered, head inclined.

He cleared his voice with a soft growl. “Yes, Loki,” he replied softly, “I’m here.”

He took a couple of steps towards the bed, his not-brother coming into view. He stopped dead in his tracks. The royal blue body was flushed to an extremely attractive purple, the silvery ridges standing out prominently. His chest was heaving, two small swells rising and falling with the ribcage. _Breasts? Loki is male, he can’t have breasts, Besides, those were most certainly not there yesterday._ The Jotunn moaned, his hands trailing down his body, one grabbing one of the odd swells, the other latching on to his impressive erection. The Jotunn threw his legs open, right in his line of sight, revealing something that the Thunderer did not expect. His eyes widened, the smell of arousal washing over him. He turned his shaggy head towards Odin.

The Allfather nodded, and inclined his head towards the man overwhelmed by sexual desire. “Help him, Thor. He knows what he’s asking, and he’s _asking for you_.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

He woke the next morning with his arms wrapped around a very warm, very shaggy pillow and a deep, but satisfied ache all through his body. He slowly opened his eyes, watching the sun glint off the golden fur of his pillow, off of his definite not-brother. His _Lover_. A man that had accepted him for what and how he was. A man that had come when he had called and had calmed the raging fire that had burned, unbidden through his body. It had been his thirteenth Heat and the first that he had wanted, nay, _needed_ , to share with another. It had been more intense than any that he had experienced before and the conclusion, he thought, was very satisfactory.

He snuggled deeper into the other man’s side, chuckling a bit at his curled up sleeping position. He stroked the fur, thick and soft, sweet-smelling, noting that the other man had gone through the act of bathing and combing the golden hair that covered every inch of his muscled form. He had done it for him, he knew, which made him love the other man even more. It made him want to stay, not travel to Jotunnheim, as promised, but duty, unfortunately, called.

The golden body stirred in his arms, releasing a long sigh. “Thor?” Loki whispered, watching the other man’s ears swivel as he picked up his voice, no longer lusty. The warmer body shifted, uncurling into a languid, almost feline stretch, complete with a groan. The muscles flexed and pulled in such a way that even the fur couldn’t hide it, making Loki recall what it felt like to have that body dominate him so completely. The hard muscles held him tightly but tenderly, the curved claws scraped along his back, the golden hair tickling and stimulating his hyper-sensitive ridges, the cool nose snuffling along his neck and collarbone, the sandpaper tongue licking the juncture.

Thor rolled over to face him, his body automatically curling in as he smiled that strange, lupine smile around his underbite. Loki ran his fingers along the other man’s cheek and up around one of his ears. “Good morning,” he whispered.

“Loki, I am so sor-” Thor started, worry flickering across his face.

“Why?” he cut the other ‘monster’ off. “I finally have you in my bed. There is nothing to apologize for. Unless you think that this - us, we’re a mistake.”

“No,” the other man breathed, leaning into his fingers. “I do not regret anything, Loki.”

He sighed, smiling with all his fangs. “This is all in poor timing. I’ll be leaving for Jotunnheim in a few hours and I assume that you are going to retreat back into your sanctuary.” The unspoken question hung between them.

Thor sighed. “Twenty-six years of wallowing in hiding, filled with self-pity is plenty enough for me. It’s time that I got back out into the world. After all, what sort of heir would I be if I did not at least attend council meetings?” He laughed, joining the odd, growly chuckle of the golden man.

“I-” He stopped, not wanting to say anything that could ruin what he had in that moment with his not-brother. His confession could wait until another day. He started again. “I am very proud of you, Thor.”

The other man cocked his head. “And I am proud of you Loki. You’ve inspired me to move on, to look past my exterior and be the man that our parents raised - a leader doesn’t abandon his troops or his people because of a few personal setbacks, now does he?”


	7. Chapter 6

Leaving had been that hardest thing he had ever done. He felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind in Asgard, and, in a way, he was. His Heat, while producing what was arguably the best night of his life, had come at an inconvenient time. The Jotunn, as a people, took the act of intercourse very seriously, with Heats followed by bonding, and, usually concluded with an agreement struck. The agreement was usually a semblance of joint custody of the potential offspring (many offspring didn’t survive the harsh Jotunnheim winters), a promise of another mating during another Heat, or, what was most common, a marriage. A Heat drew the Jotunn together, binding them in mutual affection, regardless of the outcome.

He had known when he had left that he was in love with Thor and that he had been for a long time. He also knew that the Thunderer was in a difficult place, torn between his ‘new’ form and his duty to his country. He was future king of Asgard, raised to rule his people, not the partner in marriage to a runty Jotunn with a less than pristine past. Besides, they were raised as brothers and, while they had laid together, Thor could have been helping in his desperation, in his base need. He had claimed to not regret his decision, but he had not said everything that he had wanted to say. Loki knew that he was keeping something from him, though what that something was, he could not say. That, and the other man had not asked him to stay - did that mean that he didn’t want him in the way that he wanted him?

He sighed morosely, his steps leading him through the snow, the wind whipping his cape behind him. The streets, if broken cobbles filled with frost heaves could be called streets, were empty, the morning still early. It was his favorite time of day. It was what had saved him really, waking early and catching the end of the aurora borealis that played through the night, and realizing that he was part of an amazing and beautiful universe. Every realm was distinct, individual; their peoples diverse. Each population had grown and developed to best live to the fullest extent on their own planet. And some, like himself - like Thor, lived in multiple worlds. And now, they just happened to be apart.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Ironically, the world seemed colder and less bright without the Jotunn in it. Part of the reason was because he had taken his first blundering, staggering steps into the throne room in his best pair of breeches, the largest shirt he owned (Which he had squeezed into with the help of his mute maid), and his scarlet cape, and was surrounded by the voices of the populace. The reveal certainly shocked the Aesir. It was in those moments that he wished Loki were beside him. He rolled his shoulders, squaring them, and stood as straight as he could, reminding himself that his not-brother had done this and so could he. He was going to rule Asgard someday, whether he looked like the golden god that everyone knew or if he looked like an Aesir-animal hybrid that ate raw meat and longed for the cool intimate touch of a Jotunn runt. It was the truth of the matter and it something that he had to face on his own.

He sighed, counting the days until Loki’s return, continuing his diligent training for the crown. He attended all of Odin’s meetings, listening and retaining as much as he could so that he could be as good a ruler as his father. He made it back to the training ring, sparring, sans Mjölnir (who still would not budge), with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. He quickly regained his physique and his prowess as a warrior, fighting with every weapon available, including his claws and, if pressed, his jaws.

As the months passed, his appearance among the general populace of the palace became less of a surprise. The beast became synonymous with ‘Thor’ and they became one in the same. Other realms sent dignitaries, and they too learned of his fate. Marriage offers, given centuries ago, were quietly withdrawn as princesses and duchesses saw him in his hairy, jowled, and clawed form. He was fine with it, his heart consumed with longing for the one person that he knew he couldn’t have.

Then, with forty days until Loki’s return, he slipped further away from his humanity than he ever thought to be possible. It was as if someone had seen his slow rise from the ashes and had decided to push him back in. He lost his voice. More specifically, he lost his ability to speak. He was able to growl, grunt, rumble, and roar but his lips and tongue no longer worked. Shut off from the rest of humanity due to his inability to communicate, he retreated again into Bilskrinir. Unlike the first time, however, he did not bolt the door. His mother visited daily to talk at him and keep him up to date with the discussions of the delegates and politicians of the Nine. He was, after all, heir of Asgard, and he would, one day, rule the realm, whether he could speak or not.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He stood at the Bifrost, determined to let the man know his true feelings as soon as he returned. He wasn’t quite sure how he would do it, his voice still lost, but there was nothing that he wanted more. It was all that he had focused on in his moments of solitude for the last six months. He only hoped that Loki felt the same. It was that hope that had given him the courage to leave the relative safety of the palace grounds to walk through the streets of Asgard and down the Bifrost to stand beside his father and mother. To wait for the man that completed him.

He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his claws catching on the grooves in the golden floor. His eyes roved about the golden sphere, stopping on the open sky. It was filled with millions upon millions of stars, and, out there, somewhere, was Jotunnheim and Loki. Heimdall was transfixed, his odd golden orbs seeing in a second what he would never be able to see in a life time.

“It is time,” the man in the golden armor intoned evenly. He thrust his great sword into the console and aimed it towards the Frozen Realm. Thor danced from foot to foot, his front ‘paws’ aching to hold the slim, cool body against his fur again. The Observatory spun, the Bifrost whirring, pulling the Jotunn home.

As Loki responded to the pull and materialized in the golden room, it took so much restraint to remain where he was, keeping his feet firmly planted.

The blue figure that emerged from the rainbow stream of light was different from the one that had left. His blue, Aesir eyes roved up and down the lean, blue body, still traversed with intricate silver lines and accented by a pair of rubies under a pair of arching slate grey horns. His black braid was thrown over his shoulder, running along his body, down passed his bottom now, thick and shining. It was what drew him to the changes first. That, and one of Loki’s slim hands placed protectively over his abdomen where there was a noticeable swell. His chest, concealed partially under his cloak, had rounded too, ready to provide nourishment for the life that he held inside him.

He growled under his breath, a mix of emotions running through his body like a strange cocktail. Hope. Despair. Desperation. Worry. Love. His eyes flitted back to the rounded stomach. Tears sprang to his eyes and he bowed his head with a sigh.

“Thor?” the Jotunn asked quietly, his smile slipping. “What is it?”

A small hand, Frigga’s, came to rest on his shoulder comfortingly. “Loki, darling,” she murmured, “Your brother would have made you proud. He ventured from Bilskirnir, he sat and ruled on councils, he took his place beside Odin.” He allowed his gaze to flicker up from the golden floor to see the Jotunn’s proud smile before his eyes found the hand pressed against the rounded abdomen. His mother continued, “Then, about two months ago, he lost his voice.”

He could hear the pregnant man’s brow furrow. “How?”

He shook his shaggy head, allowing his shoulders to rise in a shrug. Frigga filled in the gaps for him. “We do not know.”

The blue man’s brow wrinkled, his lips parting slightly. “And now you find me round with child.” He shook his horns. “You would think so low of me that you would think that I would whore my way through my negotiations with the Jotunn? That this child, conceived with such love with the most wonderful being in all the Nine, did not belong to the only man that I have ever lain with?” Tears appeared in the younger man’s eyes. “Thor,” he continued hoarsely, “This-” He stroked his abdomen tenderly. “Is _your child_.”

The admission hit him solidly in the gut and in his chest. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, his heart stopped in his chest as it constricted. He gasped, his head flying upward to look at the sparkling rubies that shone down on him with such love he didn’t know how to feel.

“Yes, Thor,” the Jotunn insisted, striding forward to stop mere inches in front of him. He gently picked up one of his inhuman hands with both of his, cool phalanges wrapping around the rough pads, and placed in on the bulge. “Yours.” He beamed, fangs flashing in the golden light. “Ours.”

Feeling the miracle move beneath his fingers, he snorted, still not believing and not quite sure he could be in a child’s life. Not as a father surely - maybe as the family dog.

“Thor,” Loki replied. “I love you. As you are. And this child will love you, regardless of your appearance or your ability to speak. Because I do.”

His heart stopped. He longed to murmur,“I love you, Loki. And this child,” but his lips and tongue could not form the words. Instead, he rose onto his hind legs, up to his full height, and embraced the Jotunn. He leaned down, snuffling the juncture between the Frost Giant’s neck and shoulder tenderly, wishing that he were Aesir and could kiss the other man’s lips, like he deserved.

Loki’s cool arms wrapped around his thick neck, his fingers weaving themselves into the long fur. The horned head leaned into his jowl, cool breath playing through the shorter fur that grew there. The closeness was something that he had been missing. To have contact with another being was the most amazing feeling in all the Nine Realms. The strength in the embrace, found in the other man’s arms, the firmness in his stance, the softness on his chest and belly that contoured his own body around it.


	8. Chapter 7

The God of Thunder whined before him, nervous again now that they were alone in Bilskirnir. His insecurities seemed to voice themselves in his enormous Aesir eyes. _I cannot raise a child. Look at me: I am an animal - a beast. I cannot hold it for lack of proper hands, I cannot change it or feed it or clothe it. I cannot kiss it - I cannot kiss you._

Slowly, his patience wearing thin but he knew that yelling would make Thor cower like a kicked dog at his inability to express himself, he formulated his answer to the nervous and scared eyes. “Thor,” he countered, “You are not raising this child on your own. I am here and I am as equal in my non-Aesir nature as you. That is certainly not going to make me less of a parent, why do you think it will make you less of a father?”

The furred man stared at him as if seeing him for the first time with his protruding belly and his heavy breasts covered in azure skin. A paw stretched out hesitantly, a single phalange caressing one of the lines on his cheek. _You are beautiful_ , the blonde whimpered tenderly.

The Jotunn blushed, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks. “And you think that you are not? What is wrong with you, Thor? I am the one carrying this child and suffering from the bouts of raging hormones and lack of sleep! You are raising this child with me - that is the end of it!”

He felt bad for snapping, his hormones rising out of their tight confines. His lover, though significantly larger when standing on his ‘back’ legs, cowered before him like a kicked dog, eyes wide with devotion and terror. He ran a hand over his face, his claws rubbing the ice-carrying ridges, soothing his sudden anger. “Look,” he said calmly, “I know that you are scared. I’m scared too - _terrified_ in fact. This child - it is destined to dwell among the gods in a form that they may find unsavory with two parents who, while high-standing nobles, are not married and not Aesir. It will have no standing and no prospects, and will, most likely, not look what the general populace of this realm deems normal.”

He stopped his rant, catching Thor’s shocked expression. He shifted gears and continued. “But it is _ours_ , Thor. And that means that _it will be loved_ and doted upon. Isn’t that all that matters?” He knelt, with some difficulty, so that he could cup one of his lover’s warm cheeks. “I _love_ you. This child will love you. Why do we need to worry about what hasn’t come yet? One step at a time.” He smiled and leaned forward, placing a cool kiss on the end of the other man’s wet nose. “Which, right now, is helping me get off the floor.”

He laughed merrily at his predicament. His lack of finesse and flexibility as well as his now general clumsiness was perplexing. But, then again, with the babe resting between his hips and ribcage, he had never not been able to see his toes before either.

Warm, rough padded hands wrapped tenderly around his bulbous body and helped him to rise to his slightly swollen feet. “Thank you,” he murmured, leaning heavily into the other man’s chest. “Do not doubt that I love you, Thor. I do. _More than anything_.”

The other man whine softly, allowing it to flow into a low, calm growl, obviously hoping that it was enough to convey his motions. Loki smiled softly as Thor’s warmth drew nearer to him. His sharp chin was carefully cupped in his not-brother’s massive paw, longing written all over his face.

He smiled back sadly, wishing that he could know exactly what the Thunderer wanted to say. Instead, he allowed one of his own clawed hands to stroke back along the furred man’s jowl, and leaned in, placing a loving kiss on the broad, cool, wet nose.

A spark of seidr tingled against his nose, making his brow wrinkle. “Oh,” he exhaled, “Thor, I love you. Do you love me?”

The other man nodded, giving him his odd scowl-smile. “Then trust me,” the Jotunn said, leaning in again, coating his lips with seidr. The resulting kiss led to a shock to pass between the two of them. As he pulled back again, his thumb traced the soft fur of the jowl. “Now tell me, Thor, how much you love me.”

The monster balked, his mouth dropping open in fear. “Just try,” Loki murmured, “For me.” _And for you_.

Inhaling shakily, the heir of Asgard croaked, “More than anything.” The smile around the underbite was back. “How?”

The blue man smirked cockily. “Another layer of seidr placed over the original curse. Not nearly as strong or as potent because it was placed over a great distance and because it was such a simple spell. Your Elf seems to have it out for you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Now was the time, the Enchantress realized, to act. She poured the water from her scrying bowl and turned to her mirror. Some minor tweaking was all she really needed, just enough to pass as royalty from a foreign realm. Her hair, a fiery auburn, she bleached, making it a silvery white, like all the nobles of Aelfheim. She vainly slimmed her nose and made her eyes larger and shifted them from green to blue. She was gorgeous, she knew, her lips twisting, and this was perfect for her deception and the image that all would soon kneel to.

Spinning her seidr expertly, she let herself into the court of Aelfheim, appearing in a cloud of green seidr. Her appearance may be different, but the Elves knew her and feared her. Her arrival was greeted by screams, terrified of her very presence outside of her cloistered halls. “Hello,” she intoned coyly before flinging her arms over the gathering, enthralling the court with her spell, “Shouldn’t you all bow before your princess?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

He walked through the halls, accompanied by the constant click of his claws and his thoughts. Loki had raised a fair point during their heated ‘debate’ earlier. Their child will not be welcomed here, or on any other realm for that matter. He needed to speak with his parents, their wisdom would help provide the guidance he so desperately needed.

He was pleased to find his mother and father in his mother’s private sitting room, enjoying their afternoon tea. He bowed deeply, unable to drop to a nonexistent knee, pressing a fist over his heart. “My King, my Queen,” he intoned reverently. “May I speak with you?”

His mother smiled brightly, as always, pleased to see him despite everything. “Of course, Thor,” she replied, “Shall we have something brought for you?”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. He had yet to partake in anything, food or drink, in front of his parents, hiding the beast from them. “No, thank you for your kind offer.”

“Rise,” Odin intoned, focusing intently on him with interest. “What is troubling you, my Son?”

He rose from his bow, tilting his head slightly. “Am I still you Son?” he asked.

Odin’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “Thor. You are my _only_ born. My one true Son and Heir. So long as you breathe, none can take that title from you.”

“Even though I am unworthy to wield the mighty Mjölnir?” he asked.

“Thor,” Frigga cut in, “You are not unworthy. You have just lost faith in yourself and you question your worth. Mjölnir will respond to you when you believe in yourself again.” She smiled kindly, offering a hand to him. He stepped forward and sat on his haunches, taking her hand in one of his while the other skimmed the floor, retaining his balance. “But that is not the question that you seek the answer to, is it?”

“No,” he exhaled, hanging his head. “I worry about my child. As prince of the realm, I wish to acknowledge it, make it mine own, and if it is male, make it my heir. I will not allow Loki to bear a bastard.”

“I cannot allow that. _Loki_ is not a marriage prospect,” Odin replied, fixing him in his one-eyed gaze.

“Are you saying that I should take him as my mistress? _Why?_ Why should he not be my consort? I love him and he is of noble birth! There are no women of upstanding birth that are wishing to lay with this bestial body. They have all dissipated like morning mist, disgusted by what they see.” His eyes turned pleading, “Why should I not wed Loki - before his time and thus make our child my heir? Is it because he is Jotunn?” He rose quickly, backing away from the contrary king. “At least he is of the Nine!” he yelled, his voice taking on a gravelly growling timbre, “LOOK AT ME! _THIS_ IS YOUR SON - YOUR _HEIR_! A _BEAST_ THAT BELONGS NO WHERE!”

“Thor!” Frigga snapped, “Be respectful of your king!”

Odin threw up a hand. “No, Frigga,” he said quietly, “He speaks the truth. Who am I to deny my son happiness? To keep him from the man he loves, the man who is carrying his child? It would be cruel, even more cruel than the curse that has been laid upon him.” He turned, his face becoming kind as he scanned over his less than perfect form. His hand, strong despite the age spots that dwelt there, slowly descended until it touched his broad shoulder. He shivered under the touch, turning his massive head to look at the other man’s hand. “I give you my blessing, Thor. Marry your Loki, make him your consort. May he help you rule the realms wisely.”

Frigga squeezed his hand-paw tightly. “Tomorrow, bring him here at sunset and I will perform the ceremony. It would be my deepest honor and greatest happiness to see my two sons wed.”

He smiled his ugly smile, tears coming to his Aesir eyes. He blinked, the liquid running down his cheeks and soaking into his fur. “Thank you,” he choked, “Thank you for your kindness.”


	9. Chapter 8

Her arrival in Asgard was early in the morning, with only the Watcher to see her and her entourage. His eyebrow cocked before he intoned, “Welcome Princess Amora. We were not expecting you.”

She gave the man a small nod. “I came to see my betrothed and to honor the agreement between Aelfheim and Asgard despite the misfortune that has befallen Prince Thor.”

The golden orbs unsettled her and she longed to escape their gaze. Finally, the helmed head nodded solemnly. “The royal family will be eating breakfast in the Queen’s solar. I will send word that they should expect you.”

Giving the man a small nod, she beckoned her entourage forward, and began her long walk down the Bifrost. While she would have preferred to simply teleport to the location of the royal family, excited at the new life that was lingering at her very fingertips, she was enjoying the view of what was soon to be her city. The early morning sunlight glinted off the gold structures and marbles statues, contrasting sharply with the shifting colors of the Rainbow Bridge. _Mine_ , she preened, _All mine. Just a few minutes longer_.

Her arrival at the palace of Asgard was greeted by the flurry of serving staff and a rather dignified but surprised butler. The maids and footmen brought her entourage to the guest hall and their private chambers. She herself, being the ‘second’ daughter of the ruling family of Aelfheim, was shown to the small throne room for an audience with the royal family, as befit her (new) station.

Glad that she had worn her elegant silver gown, which made her new hair color really stand out, along with her eyes. Odin All-Father sat on his grand throne, his wife, the dutiful Frigga of Vanaheim, standing to his right. Thankfully, their monstrous children stood off to the side, as if trying to blend in. The Jotunn, disgustingly round with child, would never be able to blend in with the gold and metal veined marble that surrounded it. Thor, her be-spelled target, with his golden coat of fur, could hide a bit, if it weren’t for his hideousness.

Suppressing a shudder, she sank into a deep curtsy, “All-Father,” she intoned, trying to keep the sneer from her voice, “All-Mother.” The pair nodded in unison, their eyes curious while their faces were schooled and blank. “I have come to uphold the contract between Aelfheim and Asgard. A royal marriage, uniting our houses.”

She noticed that the hairy son straighten, obviously surprised. Her gaze flitted back to the old man on the throne. “The contract was void when your elder sister, Arwen, withdrew. The contract did not extend beyond her.”

Her eyes narrowed, astounded that the man would pass on a beautiful woman for his heir. “Yes, I understand, but my parents believed that I would be just as pleasing. Besides,” she paused, allowing a glint of seidr to play about her fingertips, “Unlike my sister, I am educated in the art of seidr. I hope to help Prince, Thor the Thunderer, if he will allow me that. And, if he won’t, I would take his hand anyway. For the good of my realm, and his.”

The Jotunn’s mask slipped a bit, fear flickering beneath his facade. _Oh adopted monster, carrying that bastard child within your unnatural womb, you truly love the furry mongrel_. For a split second she felt pity for the runty thing, but the sensation was fleeting. Thor looked lost, the simpleton.

“How?” The invitation came from the All-Mother, soft as a breath.

Slowly, but deliberately, she extended her hand to the man that she had transfigured. Of course, the spell she had woven would unravel but only beneath her touch. No one else’s. She could not tell that to the royals of Asgard, however. “A simple nature spell, only known among my people, may work. Unfortunately, if it does, it can only work with my touch. If we are not touching in some way, the prince’s current state will return to his form.” Not wanting to sound too confident, she quickly added, “Would you be willing to give it a try? I don’t want to give you hope, if there is no guarantee.”

The Vanir woman, now Queen of the Aesir, was looking at her children, both hideously un-Aesir. Slowly, a giant paw-like hand lingering briefly on the shoulder of the pregnant being, Thor took a step forward. “Lady...” he paused over her name.

“Amora,” she replied with what she deemed a kind smile, “I am Amora, my Prince.” She extended her delicate hand to him.

The hulking brute paused, ears flickering about his head absurdly. “Lady Amora,” he breathed, “I am willing to try.”

His fingers simply brushed hers hesitantly, her seidr jumping to him in the form of a spark. The furred finger twitched, feeling the spark, the claw withdrawing into a nail. Thor gasped, both of his hands shooting out to grasp hers, squeezing them fiercely. The de-spelling took hold rapidly, fur falling in clumps, bones breaking and solidifying with alarming speed. In less than a minute, the prince of Asgard stood before her. His hair was unkept, scraggly, and overly long for her taste. He was deliciously shirtless, his physique still very much in peak condition, though the rest of his clothing was ragged and patched, practically falling from him.

She smiled - fine, smirked - her ‘victory.’ “Prince Thor,” she breathed, trying to sound surprised, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

His brow furrowed, his hand shaking as it rose to slowly trace his handsome face. “I-I...this is impossible.”

She flushed, bowing her head slightly. “It is not, apparently, My Lord.”

Odin’s commanding voice cut through the moment. “We will announce the union to the people today. You will be wed on the morrow.”

A sharp, inhale echoed softly about the chamber. The sound of heartbreak. It was hard not to truly smirk at the trembling breaths. _Run home, little Jotunn. Go back to your monstrous people. You and that dirty half-bred monster you’re growing. It will be no child of Thor, Puppet of Asgard_.

_ _ _ _ _ _

No one could have told him what to expect on the day that his humanity was restored. It was a strange jumble of emotions, the irrational mixed with the rational. He felt overwhelmingly grateful to his soon-to-be wife, his savior who was incredibly beautiful. Ethereal even, which stirred emotions that he had felt in the presence of his brother. _Loki..._

His eyes flickered to the blue man as if suddenly remembering his presence. The Jotunn’s midnight skin and ruby eyes hid emotion so well, but the trails of ice that rolled down his cheeks betrayed him. His hands, clawed and curled, were protectively holding his abdomen, so round and so full. Of his child. His. Suddenly, the joy at his appearance fell away. “No,” he murmured, “No.”

He stepped back, releasing the woman’s lithe fingers. Regaining his beastly shape was painful, more so than when she had released him, but it was worth it.

“What?” the woman gasped, shock written across her face.

“No,” he repeated, dropping to his crouch so that he could look at the woman’s face, a few finger tips brushing the gilded floor, “I cannot give up what I have to wed you. Even if it means that I must remain a monster.”

“Thor.” The caress of his name, was rough and weathered, full of emotion. “Thor, the realm comes first. Always.” There was a thick swallow as he turned to look at his lover. Loki continued, his gaze strong as his voice wavered. “Marry her. Lady Amora. She is what’s best for the realm.”

“But-” he protested.

“No Thor,” he replied, lowering his striking gaze to the floor. “I - I don’t belong here. This child doesn’t belong here. I have a duty - to my own people, that I have neglected. I will remain through your nuptials and then go.”

“Loki-” he tried to protest, not wanting the love of his existence or his unborn child to leave Asgard. And him.

“Thor,” his father intoned, rising from his throne and descending purposefully, “Your brother speaks the truth.” He smiled at him, their faces level, and grabbed his paw ( _Is this the first time the All-Father has touched me in this flesh?_ ) and placed it again into the hand of the Elf, initiating his shift again. “You will be wed on the morrow.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

A soft knock on his chamber door rattled him from his packing. “Enter,” he called, hiding his tears with a cough.

The door gave way to the soft tread of his mother. The woman looked morose, her own eyes rimmed with pink, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Loki,” she breathed before rushing to him and embracing him tightly around his shoulders from the side, working around his stomach.

His exterior of cool indifference, barely hidden to begin with, crumbled to dust. His body wracked with sobs that he would later pass off as hormones, but, feeling the warmth of the woman was just what he needed at the time. “Loki,” the All-Mother murmured, “You are my strongest son but I fear that you have been too selfless. Are you sure you do not wish to stay?”

He shook his head, sniffling. “No. Seeing his happiness...it is all I’ve ever wanted. And, no matter what spells I have concocted in the dead of night as he slept beside me or in a distant realm, I have been unsuccessful. The woman, Amora, can do what I cannot. And Thor deserves happiness.”

Frigga’s lips pressed themselves to his brow. “Know that you will be missed, my child,” she whispered, leaning her brow against his tear-streaked cheek, “And know that you are _always_ welcome here.”

“Before I depart, Mother, I have but one request,” he murmured, ducking his head a bit in subordination and embarrassment.

“Anything, Loki,” the Queen of Asgard replied, her face growing concerned, “As always.”

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to maximum capacity before releasing the air in a rush. “Watch the enchantress. She is hiding something. Whether it is about her or her past, I cannot tell, but she is not the perfect woman we are being led to believe. I know Lies and she holds one close to her chest but shields it well in her mind. I do not want to see Thor hurt and I will not see Asgard fall because this secret is too great.”

The older woman gave him a sharp nod of understanding. “Of course, my Son. I think we both want what is best for Asgard and for Thor, do we not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, every Elven princess should be named Arwen ;)


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depiction of childbirth in this chapter. Not overly graphic, but containing some gross moments. You've been warned!

The wedding had been small but beautiful, featuring a bride more radiant than the sun - as Thor deserved. Their parents (Thor’s parents) concelebrated it, each in their silver or gold garb as was representative of their stations. He felt out of place, but watched his brother’s handsome, pale exterior restored to him as he had promised that he would, his hand pressed to the tiny foot that rested against the dome of his stomach. Then he left, slipping away into the night like a thief or a prodigal son as Asgard rejoiced. They had gained a beautiful and talented Queen, a handsome but ferocious heir to the throne, and had rid themselves of one and a half monsters, Thor being a part-time beast when not in contact with his new bride.

Now, the cobbled streets of Jotunnheim lit by the aurora borealis that danced through the night were his new home. Not wanting to impose on his brothers and the other royals of Jotunnheim, he was living quietly at the new Asgardian consulate. It was a small building, as no Aesir would truly wish to spend a night in the Realm of Winter, and the empty halls were slowly driving him mad.

They were the only comfort however, as pain rippled through his frame. It had been growing worse through the day and well into the evening. He could feel the babe slowly inching it’s way into position and he wished that he had waited until his child had been birthed to leave Asgard. But, he knew that if he had waited for his time to come, Thor would never had let him leave. And then Thor would never have moved on, would never have passed him, a horned, Jotunn runt, by for a stunning and enchanting Elf. A good alliance with a strong, reputable people, and a wife who not only restored his handsome, Asgardian exterior, but could bear him a child that would be in the image of the gods that created it. That was all he wanted for the man, the only one he ever truly loved. The only one, he knew deep in his aching gut, that he would ever truly love.

A odd dropping sensation, combined with an intense wringing caused a trickle of liquid to slid down his left leg, scalding it. His waters had just broken. “Shit,” he hissed, grating his teeth together as the next contraction, a thousand times stronger than the last, tore through him. Gasping, a hand on the wall of ice and stone, he tried to steady himself. “Come on,” he gritted, “Come on!”

The baby shifted again, it’s bulbous head pressing against his pubic bone. Inhaling deeply, or as deeply as he was able, he closed his eyes. Women did this all the time. Jotunn did this without the technologies of Asgard. He could do this. _Listen to your body and do what it says_ , he reminded himself as he shuddered again, the baby inching lower still.

The moonrise, which heralded the ‘day’ in the land of ice, was what greeted him as he squatted, one hand holding the babe’s head as it dangled from his nether region, the other steadying himself by grabbing the stairway railing forcefully. He was weary, but so close. Twisting slightly and shifting his weight, he pushed through his next shuddering contraction and felt the child slide from his channel wetly.

Gasping and gulping, he collapsed, dropping onto his aching backside into a puddle of his own bodily fluids. His hands, surprisingly steady, brought the child to his recently developed bosom. He realized that he was crying, as was the babe, and that he needed to keep going. He was not through yet. The placenta needed to be delivered, the umbilical chord needed to be severed, the child needed to be warmed. He was, after all, colder on the outside than the inside.

“Shhh, shhhh, my child,” he murmured, clearing mucus and phlegm from the infant’s face. Instincts washed over him and he pulled the babe higher, bending his head to cut the chord with his own teeth. The nutrients from the chord told him to consume the placenta as it too slid and shuddered from his body. Snuffling the babe, and memorizing it’s scent (appalled that he was nosing his baby like a common animal but unable to fight the growing need to do so), he grabbed the blanket that he had left on the bannister, and swaddled the newborn carefully.

Lowering the baby to his now leaking breast, the child latched eagerly, taking the nutrients he had created greedily into it’s own stomach. Feeling slightly ashamed, he shifted the little one into his left arm and used his right hand to grasp the slimy placenta and brought it to his lips. Closing his eyes and forcing his Aesir upbringing to the back of his mind, he opened his fangs and bit, bringing the nutrients back into his body to be recycled into his colostrum.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The babe was a combination of Thor and himself, of that it was very clear. His face was long and very much like his own, except with tanned and Aesir skin. His ears were pointed and long with fur covering the tip and the back. His head was covered in fine chocolate brown hair that transitioned to fur at the nape of his neck. The fur trailed down his neck and along his spine to a short tail. His fingers and toes were tipped in short, curved claws. With a sigh, the babe woke, his violet eyes blinking sleepily at him. “Hello, beautiful Little One,” he murmured, tracing a chubby cheek with a finger, careful not to scratch the soft, warm surface with his sharp, ebony claw. “Fenrir, Prince of Asgard and Jotunnheim.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the furry head. “It is a shame that you will never know. A child of the purest love that will never know of his father.”

The babe sighed before shivering, his swaddled limbs rolling and shifting within the soft blanket. The chocolatey fur grew, erupting from every follicle as his face thrust forward into a muzzle. Within less than a minute, his baby boy had become a wolf cub, snuggling into his frigid exterior with his added layer of warmth. “You look like your father but you take after your mother, apparently,” he grinned, proud of his shape-shifting offspring. He allowed one of his clawed fingers to scratch behind a flitting ear, the little being’s tongue lolling out happily. “My perfect monster child.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“My Prince,” the woman crooned in his ear, her ever present hands running through his trimmed hair and down his neck, “Come to bed.”

He shook his head slightly, diverting his gaze to the gold basin of the sink. “What are you thinking about my Darling?” the Elf asked, spinning him around in her arms as she beamed at him.

“Loki,” he said truthfully. “The child should have come by now. It’s been two months.”

His beautiful wife’s smile fell. “Does it matter, Thor?” she breathed, lip quivering. He had obviously hurt her feelings deeply. And it wasn’t as if he _didn’t_ have feelings for her. She had saved him, restored his Aesir body, and he loved her for it. But it was not the love that he felt for his once-brother. His wife’s hand came to cup his cheek, her smile returning. “He didn’t love you, Beloved. If he did, he wouldn’t have walked away. That child is no more yours than Sleipnir is! Come, Thor. Come to bed and _we_ can create a child. An heir for the two of us and for Asgard.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

His resolve faded as Fenrir grew and continued to shift his form between the wolf and the boy. He had added a Jotunn-esque form to his repertoire, the fur remaining despite the Jotunn species’ lack of such body hair. More than anything, he wanted to see Thor, tell him of his miraculous child, give the one year old to him to hold in his massive paws, to hug him to his gloriously warm chest. To allow him to be a figure in their child’s life. _No_ , he reasoned, _Thor must have an heir, a true heir in his real Aesir arms by now. Not a half-monster creation, as beautiful as my little one is, he is just that. A creature of two worlds belonging to none. The future king of Asgard and ruler of the Nine realms cannot have an imperfect heir in the eyes of his people. Remember when the Aesir learned of your adoption? They barely tolerate you and the Jotunn welcome you because of your usefulness. Fenrir deserves better._

Needing to see the man - to be sure that he did the right thing in walking away from his own happiness, he pulled out his scrying bowl and placed it on his desk. Fenrir was snoozing softly in his blue skin on the sofa along the wall beside his chair, oblivious to the spying that his bearer was about to instigate.

He pulled at his wintery seidr and poured it into the bowl, freezing it and, murmuring the words over the mirror-like surface. Leaning over after sparing his babe another tender glance, he thought of Thor.

 _The furry man was a sleep, curled up on the downy mattress that they had shared as was his wont in his bestial state. The other side of the mattress, kept by his wife, was empty, despite the moonlight that was streaming through the window and across the beautiful golden back._ Where is the woman? The sorceress? Future Queen of Asgard? _The image shifted to the royal bathing chamber where the woman stood. Her fingers ran through her silvery hair - the color of Light Elf royalty - the strands bleeding into a fiery auburn. Her nose shifted slightly, and her eyes bled into a sickly green._ LIAR! A glamor hiding her common birth. But why? What did the elves have to gain from this? Or is she acting alone?

Shocked, he murmured another spell and could hear the soft voice of the disguised enchantress. _“Aaah,” she sighed, “So much better.” Her hand traversed her body, stopping at her abdomen. “Nothing. Some God of Fertility. It takes one try for the Jotunn monster and nearly fourteen months of constant contact with the brute and I can’t conceive a single thing!” The woman brought her hands together in a pair of fists, slamming them against the countertop with a smack. “Without a child, I’m stuck with the dog in my bed with his awful smell and his horrid conversation skills, the nitwit.” She stopped, looking at her reflection, cocking an eyebrow. “Calm down, Amora. A few more months and all of Asgard will be yours, regardless of a child presenting itself or not.” She turned from the mirror and turned the taps on the tub, running a bath._

Eyes widening, he broke the connection and created another, hoping that it would go through. He held his breath, nibbling at his lower lip tentatively. It was late in the evening, all of Asgard asleep but for the deceptive Elf. Finally, against all odds, it went through.

The image of his mother flickered in his ice. She looked well, though he had obviously woken her, as her eyes blinked blearily and her hands pulled at her loose bedhead. Those same eyes brightened when she saw him, though. “Loki, my darling, how are you?”

He smiled, giving the woman a small nod. “I’m well, Mother,” he murmured, “Thank you for asking. I apologize for the late hour, however, I need to alert you to something.” The Queen’s eyebrow cocked. “Has Amora seemed odd to you? Like something is off?”

Frigga frowned. “She’s rather lovely, actually, though your brother is not as loving towards her as she is to him. I think that he’s not over you, to be honest. Though, there are times that the princess is very quiet, withdrawn, though it is obvious that she is listening intently. Why?”

“She is not who she says she is, Mother. I’m asking you to go to their marriage suite and catch her in her deceit. She is a sorceress, Mother, and she’s shifted her form to enthrall you all. She’s an Elf, yes, but not royal. She means to conceive and rule the realms without Thor.”

“ _What!?_ ” The woman that had taught him everything he knew, teleported from the image. He waited, hoping that the woman was caught in the act by her mother-in-law. He hated to hurt Thor that way, but the man needed to truly be loved for who he was within. He deserved that, right? He was simply looking out for the father of his child. _Right?_

One thing he knew for certain: He would protect Thor with his dying breath.


	11. Chapter 10

“Mother,” he said with a smile, glad to hear from the woman after everything that had been occurring on Asgard. “Thank you for keeping me up to date on the trial. I have been worried for Thor.”

The older woman smiled gently, her eyes filled with understanding. “I know, Darling.” Her head tilted to the left. “He misses you. He’d like to see you again.”

“I can’t,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Why ever not, Loki?” she asked softly. “Amora is no longer Thor’s wife. She is no longer a threat to anyone.”

His brow knit and he leaned forward slightly, shifting in his seat. “How?”

Frigga laughed, a light and glorious sound. “Why, my Darling boy! You may have caught her with her glamor down four years ago, but it was Thor who finally put her away for good.” She bit her lips, shaking her head as her eyes sparkled. “He remembered, or more like recognized her when we were finally able to remove the web of lies that she had cast about herself and on all of the poor Light Elves in Aelfheim. She was the sorceress who cast his form upon him to begin with. It is no small wonder that she is the only one who could return him to his Aesir state! Of course, now your brother is back in his-” She swallowed, her mood shifting to something a bit more sullen. “He refused to let Odin remove one of her fingers for him to wear around his neck, so instead she’s having her seidr pulled from her and is spending her traitorous days in the dungeons. His sacrifice has really endeared him further to the Asgardian people.”

He smiled, knowing that the finger wouldn’t have worked anyway. “I am glad that almost everything has been resolved. Thor deserves to be loved. Truly. For who he is, not what he looks like.”

His mother’s smile became soft. “Are you speaking from experience? Because I think the same could be said about you, my child.” He flushed, shaking his head as he leaned back, hearing Fenrir’s claws clattering about on the floor above him. “Loki. Come home. Please.”

His face fell, frowning. “Would that be wise? I have a heat coming and you know what happened the last time Thor and I were in Asgard for a heat.”

“I have yet to meet the result.” His mother’s voice was full of longing. It was the one thing that he truly felt guilty about - keeping his mother from her miraculous grandchild and Thor from his offspring. Frigga sighed audibly. “Loki. Heat or no, Thor still obviously loves you. He never stopped loving you. And staying away is not going to help anyone.”

He pressed his lips together, knowing that she had a point. “I’ll think about it, Mother. That is all I can promise you. And, if I do return, it will be _after_ my next heat.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Mummy?” Fenrir asked, his little voice unsure as his hand grasped his firmly, “Where are we going?”

He smiled at his son, his little monster child. The boy was in his Jotunn skin today, his dark brown fur sticking up and catching the wind as it whistled through the streets. His eyes, gorgeously purple, were wide and hesitant, and his tufted ears twitching along with his tail. He smiled brightly. “We, Fenny, are going to visit your grandparents in Asgard.”

“Asgard? They’re not Jotunn like us?” His son’s hand tightened, his fear escalating.

 _You are only half-Jotunn my precious child_ , he mused, kneeling and placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “Fenrir,” he breathed, “You know that I was adopted by the King and Queen of Asgard when I was but a babe. That is why I am the ambassador of that realm here in Jotunnheim. And now, I need to bring some diplomatic treaties to Asgard so that our two realms can continue to prosper together. And your grandparents really would like to see you.”

His son’s chin dropped to his chest as he muttered, “What if they don’t like me?”

He smile encouragingly, lifting the dropped chin with a finger. “I have told them all about you and they already love you, Darling. And they will love you even more when they meet you in person, I promise. And if they don’t we will come right back here.”

“Promise?” the teary voice quavered.

“Promise.” He rose, pulling his son against him and titled his horns back. “Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!”

The sudden heat of Asgard weighed heavily on his icy exterior making him gasp and loosen his hold on his baby. Fenrir squirmed, his eyes swirling with worry. He nodded, not wanting the boy to overheat, giving him permission to shift his skin to one that was more comfortable. The blue leeched from his son’s skin, replaced by the golden tan of the Aesir, his true, natural state. The skin he had been born with. He ruffled his hair playfully. “You look handsome, my Little One, as always. Are you ready to meet your grandparents?”

The boy smiled, his fangs flashing to match his. Taking Fenrir’s little hand in his own, he nodded to the Silent Watcher and teleported them to the palace, not needing his poor child to be stared at for looking different from any normal Aesir child. And well, holding the hand of a Jotunn runt would not help his cause. The bastard heir of Asgard, unable to walk among his own people. At least, not yet.

Releasing the teleport, he looked around him at the grandeur of the main entryway of the glinting, gilded, and golden palace of Asgard. Fenrir, slunk against his side, suddenly overwhelmed and incredibly shy, his ears pressed against his skull, his tail tucked and pressed against the back of his left leg. “Shh,” he murmured, his hand resting on his child’s dark head.

“Loki!” the bright voice of Frigga, All-Mother, resonated about the hall. “Oh, Loki, my Darling Boy!” She descended the final few stairs, looking as beautiful as ever in a flowing blue gown under her ceremonial armor, and spread her arms wide, embracing him and his five year old in her loving arms. “You look so handsome.”

“And you, Mother,” he murmured, “Look as radiant as ever.” His son’s arms tightened around his waist. He stepped back, pulling his child against him tenderly. “Mother, I’d like you to meet my son, Fenrir. Fenny, this is your grandmother, Frigga All-Mother.”

His child, a diplomat’s son to the very end, turned to face the woman and gave her a deep bow, one hand still grasping his loincloth as if he would leave him alone with the strange Aesir woman. His mother’s eyes flashed to his, her smile becoming prideful and loving, before turning to her grandchild. “Fenrir Lokison, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” She opened her arms to him and, hesitantly, his child entered them. “You look so much like your father.”

His child gasped. “You know my father?” His ears pricked up in interest, making his own stomach sink. The boy had always been interested in knowing his father and he had always denied him the knowledge.

The queen was taken aback, her brow furrowing. He knew that Fenrir looked more like Thor than himself and that his mother had gotten her terminology correct. He shook his head subtly at her. He would never tell his son, his monster child, who his real father was. It would simply hurt too much. “Who is Loki but your father?” Frigga asked, covering her tracks.

“He’s my mum,” the five year old stated proudly.

“Well, you certainly take after your mother, then,” his own mother rose, clapping her hands together, “Let’s get you to your rooms and then we’ll take you to meet your grandfather! How does that sound, Fenrir?”

His child beamed, brighter and more blinding than the immense wealth that surrounded them, and his icy heart melted.

_ _ _ _ _ _

His son, safely being doted upon by his attentive grandparents, would not know of his private conversation with his mother about Thor nor would he know of his trip to Bilskirnir. His claws clattered and clicked along the marble, his feet bringing him closer to the man that he could not bring his heart to forget. The massive, carved doors loomed above him and they gave him pause. _Am I ready for this?_

Inhaling slowly, he knocked and waited. This time, his second return to Asgard, Thor would come to him. The door opened almost silently to reveal the well-muscled, though furry form of the heir of Asgard. “Loki?” Thor’s voice was reverent and astounded. “You came back.”

He gave the being a one-sided smile. “Mother asked me to. And I have new treaties for Odin to examine.” He paused, tilting his horns. “How are you doing...with everything?”

The golden being shrugged. “Fine. Worse due to my returned state of-” He gestured with his arm sweeping along his body, “But freer and happier without her.” The older man shook his head. “I never had a moment’s peace. The contact had to remain constant - it was exhausting. I should not have listened to your council, Loki. I fear it made me miserable in the long run, even as Asgard prospered.” The man paused, a hand running over his ruff nervously. “And you?”

“I am well. My people hold me in great esteem and I can be myself for what seems like the first time in a long time.” He shuffled his feet, feeling awkward making small-talk in the corridor with his adopted brother and ex-lover.

“And...the babe-our child?” the Thunderer asked, his face taking on a morose quality though hope flitted about his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.

“A son,” he smiled in reply, thinking of his perfect child. “Fenrir. He’s five now.”

“Wow,” the older man breathed, “So grown-up.”

“Yes, he certainly has grown,” he reminisced.

“Can I see him?” Thor asked, his eyes twinkling hopefully.

“He is here, yes, but I have not told him about you...or us. I wish it to remain that way.” He felt awful saying those words, spinning more lies to protect his own healing heart and his child’s pure one.

“Why not, Loki?” the Prince of the Aesir asked. “Why can we not go back to the way it was - _before_ the witch? What we _had_ then, Loki, it was _real_. So real and true and deep. Did you not _feel_ it? Do you not feel it still?”

“I don’t know what I feel, Thor,” he murmured, taking a couple of steps back. “I will see you at dinner.” He turned on his heel, not waiting for a reply, and strode down the hall, swallowing the rising lump that had lodged itself in his throat. He loved the furred man and it broke his heart all over again to know it. He wished that everything could go back to the way it was before. Before Amora and her treachery. Before he had birthed Fenrir, alone and in his main foyer. Before he had fully embraced his Jotunn nature and instincts, becoming non-Aesir and unworthy of her Crown Prince as he scented his son and ate his placenta. But it was all true, all real, and Thor could have no part of that tarnishing his golden image.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was odd to be eating semi-publicly in his fur, squatting on the cushioned upholstery in his mother’s solar, his claws digging into the satin. It was even more awkward to look up from his meal to an apologetic Loki and a child that looked so much like himself. The kidney in his right paw dropped wetly back onto his plate.

Loki and the boy bowed to the rulers of Asgard before striding into the room. “We’re terribly sorry we’re late,” the Jotunn apologized, squeezing his son’s hand to make the boy nod in agreement. “We were sidetracked by the gardens. Fenrir had never seen flowers before and he found them rather fascinating, didn’t you Fenny?”

The slightly furred Aesir child nodded before adding in a clear, high voice, “And the colors! There aren’t so many colors at home. Except at night but even that’s green and purple.”

Frigga beamed. “What were your favorites, my dear?”

“Yellow! There’s no yellow in Jotunnheim.” Fangs flashed in the light as he clambered into a seat beside his bearer. The little boy’s striking purple eyes finally lighted on his less than pristine form. “Hello.”

He smiled awkwardly around his underbite. “Hello,” he responded as his throat closed. Meeting his only child, the product of his love for his beautiful once-brother, suddenly intimidated him and he didn’t know what to say.

“This is Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard,” Loki said, leaning over slightly to speak into his son’s fur-tipped ear.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Fenrir said, smiling. “Are you a shifter too? Like me?”

He shook his head, returning his gaze to his food, briefly noting that his not-brother and true heir were consuming meals similar to his but with utensils, as their hands allowed them. “I was cursed over thirty years ago to look like this.” He chuckled humorlessly. “That is why, Fenrir, you must always treat others kindly. In case they curse you to look hideous.”

“But...” The little boy’s bottom lip quivered, making him instantly regret his bitter statement.

“It’s alright, Fenny Darling,” Loki murmured, shooting him a dark look, “Aesir do not take kindly to those that do not look like them - even among their own people. That does not mean that you should not be proud of how handsome you are or how you can change your form or how much you are loved by those who know that you are the most perfect little boy in all the Nine!”

The child giggled and placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek, every trace of hurt gone from his face.


	12. Chapter 11

He was not surprised to find Loki, lightly coated with frost, in the garden of their mother. He was shocked, however, to find him playing with a rather large wolf puppy who tore through the flowers and shrubbery, nipping at the butterflies and the blue man’s fingers. Loki was laughing, running about in a deranged version of tag. “Fenny!” the man chuckled, obviously enjoying time with his son. The boy had not been joking when he mentioned being a shape-shifter.

The dark beast was fast, not noticing when his bearer stopped, his arms hanging at his sides in surprise at finding him standing there. The little wolf pup disappeared into the garden, his paws pounding the soft ground. “Thor,” Loki breathed, probably shocked to find him outside of Bilskirnir or outside the palace to begin with.

“Loki,” he replied, smiling softly. “Enjoying the sun and growing things, I see. Jotunnheim is rather bleak, if I recall.”

The Jotunn shook his horns. “Things grow in the Wintery Realm,” he replied, “Not to the extent of Mother’s gardens, and certainly lacking the colors, but we do have fields, even some flowers. It’s not as barren as one might initially think, now that the Casket, the heart of the realm, had been returned.”

“Does he like it?” he found himself asking. “Does he have any friends?”

The blue man’s lips tightened into a straight line, not pleased with his questions, and did not respond. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, hanging his head, “I only want you to be happy. To know that you’re happy would bring me some comfort.”

A vice tightened around his tail, yanking and making him roar against the pain. He spun, seeing the wolf pup that was his own son with his jaws wrapped around the end of his tail with what could only be described as a grin, his own tail wagging furiously. Spinning quickly, he pulled his tail free and dropped to all fours, chasing the retreating boy jovially, all sense of propriety forgotten. Norns knew how long he was going to have with his son. If the boy wanted to play with him, he would most certainly indulge him.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He grinned, unable to stop himself, as he watched the four-legged men in his life tear about his mother’s gardens yipping and snapping each other’s ears and tails like overgrown house pets. Missing the feeling of grass beneath him, he sat, cross-legged, on the lawn, his hands skimming the soft blades. Fenrir, his ears pushed forward happily, leapt over his lap with a sharp bark, followed by Thor, who skirted him, sparing him a short glance before continuing the chase.

Laughing, a vision of the future sprang into his mind’s eye of Thor and an entire litter of pups running and gavotting about the gardens, their claws mucking up the beds and their joyful barks and playful snarls echoing about the private outdoor spaces. It was beautiful. And not possible, he chided himself, shaking his head. _There will be no more children for Loki of Jotunnheim. Not when it wakes the instincts of a monster_.

A soft sigh woke him from his daydream. “They seem to be getting along,” Frigga said from her seat beside him on the lawn, “Not that I expected anything else. Thor has been begging to meet your child for years, musing about what he would be like. Even when he was with the enchantress, all he cared about was you and the child you bore. She kept telling him that she’d give him another child, a replacement, so that he wouldn’t have to think about his monster’s get, but he never loved her. Not the way he loves you. That’s why, after years of trying, she never begat an heir. His heart was not in it.” She turned away from the pair that were now wrestling twenty yards away and look at him, her eyes piercing his soul. “Loki, why do you continue to deny him? It is obvious that you still love him and he has never stopped loving you.”

He could feel the blood rushing to his head and he bowed his chin, breaking the eye contact that he had with his mother. He could still feel her eyes on him, willing him to answer truthfully. “I don’t want him to experience what I did,” he murmured, the realization of his protective streak coming to light. “Fenrir is a remarkable child, full of life and love and intellect and spirit. I can’t have him broken, as I was when the truth of my true nature was revealed. He is a child of two worlds, two monsters among gods, and I cannot have him ridiculed because of it. I want him to live a happy childhood among people who view shape shifters as important people that can contribute much to society instead of as people who are not human at all and are threats to the lives of those that are normal. He will not live in the shadows because of who he is. I will not have it. Not when I endured it.”

A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, tender and loving. “I am sorry about how you were raised, Loki. I never wanted you to grow up not knowing, but Odin’s wishes were to be obeyed.”

“It is not that learning of my Jotunn heritage was the beginning of my problems, Mother,” he muttered, placing a hand over hers and turning to face her again. “I was less than Aesir before that awful time, and you know it. There were whispers of my being ergy, of my ability to shape shift, my mischief being malicious, my intellect being threatening, my seidr being womanly, my fighting style being equally feminine. I was already on the downward slope by the time I was grabbed on Jotunnheim, it was simply the push I needed to Fall and to try to find my own kingdom, a place that would accept me as I was. It was only after my banishment to Jotunnheim that I discovered that _that_ was what I had been searching for all along. And now they welcome my son. It is our home.”

“And you think that a royal marriage would tear that away from you? That you would not be allowed to live in Jotunnheim for part of the year? That Fenrir would be denied his life there? That the two of you, and Thor, being as he is, wouldn’t insight the stiff-necked Aesir to change their thinking? Thor has already begun that process, giving up his natural shape for the one that he has been cursed with in order to save Asgard. It has certainly not gone without notice.” The hand on his arm gave it a gentle squeeze. “Please, give him a chance, Darling. Allow yourself happiness as you cultivate it for Fenrir. He deserves to know his father, after all.” She leaned away, rising and dusting her gown off. “And a sibling or two. I’ve always wanted more than one grandchild.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“What did he say?” Thor asked, squatting but bouncing a bit, obviously nervous as his ears swiveled and his tail twitched. One of his paws pressed his fingers into the marble floor, the other rested on her lap.

“He is worried for his child, that he will have to endure what he did as a child,” she replied honestly. “He finds Jotunnheim to be more accepting of shape shifters and seidr wielders, which Fenrir obviously is.”

Thor’s ears pressed themselves against his head, which he bowed in a defeated attitude. “I think that he doesn’t want to slander your good name either, Thor,” she murmured, her hand running along one of his jowls lovingly.

“What good name?” he snarled at her lap, obviously forgetting that he was Crown Prince of Asgard despite his outward form.

“Thor, the Aesir revere you, even if you do not uphold your noble self.” She smiled softly, tipping his head up to look at her. “You have heard the rumors about Loki. Rumors that are partially true. We both know that Jotunn are intersex. Loki is masculine, despite the child he lovingly bore, but he is not male and thus, he is not ergy. However, he fears that, if you wed him, you would be. He wishes to protect you from that and the public disgust at your chosen spouse and your half-Jotunn offspring.”

Her flesh and blood child’s puppy eyes became more pronounced. “He is protecting Fenrir and me? By deny us all of true love and happiness?”

“Maybe, darling, you should show him that he can have both?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

A sharp knock on his sitting room door made his head snap up from his documents. He’d need to return to Jotunnheim soon, to alert his brothers Helblindi and Byleistr to Odin’s wanted policy changes. Many, probably due to the fact that his only grandchild lived on the icy world, were positive: opening a more vigorous trade route, allowing Jotunn of a certain age to apply for spots in Aesir universities, and skilled laborers with the possibility of jobs outside of Jotunnheim. Overall, he was rather glad of those dealings.

Unfortunately, Odin also called for his presence on Asgard for at least three months of the year. Thankfully, he could choose, and so he chose the dead of winter on Jotunnheim, an inhospitable time, even for those who were well-equipped to deal with the weather. Fenrir, while half-Jotunn, was not, despite his Jotunn skin and natural fur. Thus, getting his son out of the winter, was a top priority. The fact that he was forced to be on Asgard, however, was something that didn’t please him at all. Thor would not want his son to be raised not knowing who he truly was. Three months of every year with the pair of them living side by side - the knowledge would be slipped, and Fenrir’s status as Bastard of Asgard would become known. So much for protecting his child.

“Come in!” he called, looking up from his desk, expecting his mother and Fenrir, who were taking a trip to the royal stables to feed the new colts and fillies scraps of carrots and apples. Instead, Thor’s massive, animalistic head popped through the door, followed by his broad but fit body. He rose, bowing his horns a bit at the higher ranking man. “My Prince. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The beast snorted, shuffling his feet a bit before closing the door behind him. “Loki, I wanted to ask you something.”

His ruby eyes narrowed, worried and confused. “You may, though I must say that this is rather unexpected.”

Thor smiled his odd, toothy grin. “I would like to court you, Loki. Properly this time instead of taking your presence for granted as I had in the past.”

“Thor...” he breathed, shaking his head and looking away, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. “I love you, I really do. But it would be unwise...”

“Love is not rational, Loki,” the Thunderer responded, striding forward to stand opposite him. “I have never stopped loving you and I never will. Can you let me show you?”

“Show me what, Thor? That the Aesir will accept you? Of course they accept you! You vanquished the witch and saved their country from her tyrannical rule! So what if you have some extra body hair and a tail - _You_ , Thor, were born Aesir, the blood of Odin All-Father runs through your veins! You wield Mjölnir and command the storms and have protected Asgard agains the vilest foes-”

“Mjölnir will not respond to me in this form,” Thor muttered, “And yes, they may see me as their hero, but why would that not extend to my partner? Our child?”

“Your _partner_ , as you deem me, is not Aesir but is a known menace to her very people and currently lives on Jotunnheim with his true species. _My_ child, which is what Fenrir is, belongs with me - his mother - and he will be raised as I see fit. Which right now, means that he will be living as a diplomat’s child in Jotunnheim where his peculiarities will not be viewed with shame or as traits to be feared or hated as they would here. We have _no_ redeeming qualities, Thor, unlike you, Crown Prince of Asgard.”

Thor’s blue eyes would not meet his. The golden-haired man released a soft whimper, his ears flattening as Fenrir’s did when he was reprimanded. “Don’t Thor,” he sighed, sitting with a solid thump in his desk chair. “I love you, so very much, but I cannot put my child at risk. I can’t slander your sterling reputation for bedding a monster in incest and out of wedlock.” He shuffled the treaties and slid them into a protective leather folder. “Fenrir and I will be leaving for Jotunnheim in the morning. We will return in December, as Odin wishes. I want your discretion when dealing with Fenny. I cannot get his hopes up.”

“His hopes?” the other man whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time since he reprimanded him rather mercifully.

“Of having a father,” he exhaled, “And of you being that.”

“But _I **am**!_ ” Thor roared, his fist slamming on the oak desk and making him jump in shock. “ _I **am** his father_ and _I **love** him_ and his mother! I want to help _raise_ him!” The roar quieted to a normal level. “I was going to propose to you, wed you before your time, you know? The day the woman showed up I was going to do it. Odin and Frigga supported me - _supported us_. We would have been happy.” Those impossibly blue eyes shifted, becoming wide and puppy-like, tears playing at the corners. “We can _still_ be happy, Loki. Public opinions be damned.”

He let the statement percolate, turning it over and over again in his mind. “Truly?” he gasped, feeling tears prick at the corners of his own eyes. Thor nodded, reaching a hand across the wooden surface and covering his own.

He stared at it, noting the contrast. It is what had brought them together, their shared monsterhood and it was something that they had passed on to his son. Equally. Pulling his hands away and biting his lower lip to swallow his own tears, he whispered, “I need to think about it, Thor. Please, give me that much.”

The corners of the older man’s maw twitched with understanding. “Of course, Loki. Take as much time as you need.”


	13. Chapter 12

“Mummy!” his child shouted, throwing himself into his arms enthusiastically, “You’re home!”

He chuckled, ruffling the boy’s furred head before pressing a kiss into his hair line. It was always difficult to leave his child for meetings with the ruling parties of Jotunnheim, but a necessary part of his occupation. “Yes, Fenny, I’m home. Did you think your uncles would kidnap me and leave you in the charge of the honorable Angrboda for all eternity?” He gave the taller Jotunn a grateful nod of acknowledgement as the housekeeper came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a rag.

“No, but it’s still good to have you back!” The boy, so very energetic, tore away again, running back to his room to continue playing with his toys, no doubt.

“How was he?” Loki asked, looking at the only other Jotunn who entered the Asgardian consulate.

“Well-behaved, my Lord,” Angrboda replied, bowing her head, “As always.”

His lips twerked into a smile. “Good. Glad to hear that.” He paused. “Is there anything pressing that you need to finish, Angrboda?”

“Nothing, my Lord,” she replied. “Dinner is on the table and the furs have all been air out, as you requested.”

“Thank you, Angrboda,” he murmured, truly smiling this time, “You are invaluable. Please, go home and enjoy your family. I will see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she beamed, glad of the early evening, and retreating briefly into the kitchen to place the rag on the water tap, left through the backdoor with a called, “Good Night!”

“Fenrir!” he called up the stairs, “Wash up for dinner!”

The pounding of little feet above him almost made him miss the knocking on the door behind him. With a frown, he turned and pulled it open. “I’m sorry, we’re-” He stopped mid-sentence, shocked at the sight before him.

Wearing nothing but a pair of wool breeches and a wool cloak, the Crown Prince of Asgard, ice crystals laced through his mane and fur coat, stood on the door of his home. “My Prince,” he was finally able to choke out before stepping back and gesturing the older man inside out of the weather, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Thor, claws giving him purchase on the icy floor slowly removed his cloak and gave it a sharp snap, ice sloughing off of it, before shaking himself out like a wet dog. Loki closed the door, still too shocked to form words. The taller, furred man smiled. “I am here as a messenger for King Odin All-Father to Kings Helblindi and Byleistr.”

“That is _my_ job,” he hissed at the other man who was grinning infuriatingly. “Why send _you_ when he only needed to scry me?!”

“Fine,” the heir of Asgard sighed, “I came to visit. It’s been a month and I missed you both terribly. And I wanted to prove to you that Jotunnheim is no match for my thick coat - a perk to this beastly form, I fear. That means we can live here - together - as a family and you needn’t fear of my freezing.”

“Thor.” Loki’s voice was hard, knowing that his once-brother, once-lover, was not telling the whole truth.

The taller man shook out his mane again, making his fingers ache with longing, needing to run them through the tangled, matted fur. His fingers twitched but his wants were swiftly interrupted by the sound of the descending feet on the stairs behind him. “Thor!” Fenrir exclaimed, his happiness obvious.

“Fenrir!” Thor replied, his face lighting up with his odd smile. “You’ve gotten so big!”

The little boy jumped from the bottom step and, skirting around him, threw his arms around his father with such enthusiasm that the golden man had to take a step back, his claws reattaching into the floor. “Really big!” Thor chuckled.

“I haven’t grow hardly at all, Thor,” his son replied, shaking his head as he snorted and rolled his purple eyes. “It’s only been a month.”

“Well it seems like a lifetime to me!” Thor responded, snuffling at the short but wild fur-like hair on the head of their mutual child, in his manner of kissing. Loki frowned, not wanting Thor to get attached. He had yet to make up his mind regarding their relationship and having him here was simply making matters worse. Fenrir would become attached to the furred man and then his heart would be broken.

“Come,” Loki said with a sigh, resigning himself to the knowledge that Thor, like himself, had a wild streak within him. He was not the first son, the true-born, who followed obediently, not anymore. Now he would do what he wanted, released from any sense of Aesir dignity with his twisted shape. “Dinner is ready and it is well-past time we ate.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dinner went well, filled with light and laughter. It made Loki regret his decision to raise his son without the bestial being. Thor fit perfectly into their family dynamic - of course he did - and, as much as he hated to admit it, his icy heart melted ever so slightly. Fenrir went to bed unwillingly that night, making Thor swear that he would still be in Jotunnheim in the morning, sealed with a pinky promise, which was rather hilarious, as Thor’s pinkies did not work quite as well as they had on his Aesir hands.

Finally, his son asleep, Loki pressed a kiss to his brow and pulled his furs up to his chin. “Sleep well, my Little One,” he murmured, rising and retreating through the door, leaving it slightly ajar in case the boy woke in the night.

“You’re a wonderful mother.” Thor’s gruff voice was soft, drawing his attention from the door of his child’s bed chamber.

“Thank you,” he murmured, brow furrowing. “He’s the best parts of me. Loving him is so easy and wanting him to succeed and live the most gloriously perfect life possible is my burden to bear.” He smiled softly, hand caressing the door before heading down the hall, gesturing to the primary guest chamber. “Here is your room. I hope everything is to your liking.”

As he turned to go, a strong, massive paw-like hand grabbed his wrist tenderly. “Why are you here, Thor?” he queried again, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t have Fenrir getting his hopes up.”

“What if you’re not getting his hopes up, Loki?” the taller man asked, ears pressing against his skull. “I love him, Loki. I can’t stand to be apart from him, missing him grow up. I want to be there for every milestone. I’ve already missed so many.” He hung his head and swallowed shallowly, fighting tears, before continuing, Aesir eyes shining. “I love you, Loki. When you are gone, it’s cold and barren, lacking color. Because of your absence, I am impertinent and impossible, wilder and untamable. Even Frigga cannot control the berserker at times. I am not Aesir anymore, Loki. I am an animal. Unless I’m with you. With Fenrir. You make me a better being. You make me a man.”

“Thor,” he breathed, “You can’t mean that. You are noble and kind, the best man I know.”

“That man died thirty years ago,” the other man murmured. “He returned after twenty-five years of exile and self-pity only to lose sight of himself again when you left me with her.”

“He has never been lost, Thor,” he shot back, trying not to give into the gut-wrenching speech. “He has lost confidence in himself. That is all. You do not need a Jotunn and his child to show you that.”

“But I do, Loki!” the Thunderer whined, falling into a pitiful squat, begging, “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you! That is what I’ve been saying! I need you Loki - and, if you look deep enough inside your hardened heart - you need me too.”

Unable to stop himself, he knelt beside the older man and pressed his brow against the golden fur, his thumbs brushing the god’s tears away. “I love you,” he murmured, noting his own tears as they caught on his ridges, “And I’ve missed you every day I’ve been gone. But I fear for Fenrir, I fear for myself, and I fear for you. Asgard does not take kindly to monsters, much less their mates and their young. The only time they are lauded is in the menagerie.”

Thor’s massive, warm arms ensconced him, pulling him closer as the man’s cool nose snuffled along his collarbone, his tongue flitting out, leaving little teasing kisses on the raised silvery ridges. Coercing him, pulling at his heart as it broke within him. “That is why, Thor, the answer is no.”

He sighed, inhaling again, the fur and scent of the glorious future king before him tickling his nose deliciously. Gathering his inner strength as it crumbled, he released his hold on Thor’s warm and perfect body and rose. Refusing to look at the other man, he turned and entered his own bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

His shaking legs lowered him to the floor, sobs wracking his body uncontrollably but silently. Beyond the door, he could hear Thor’s own tears falling at a pace, the other man blubbering and sniffling just outside his own guest chamber. The pitiful sounds made him cry even harder at the thought of having hurt the man that held his heart in his paw-like hands. But he couldn’t do it. He had his child to protect, after all. Fenrir was too precious to expose to the ridicule of the cold-hearted Aesir.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Thor?” his child murmured as he gently shook him awake. The sound broke his heart all over again, even after he had patched it together through a sleepless night.

“He’s still here, Fenny,” he murmured, tracing the exposed fur on the back of his son’s neck and spine, “He didn’t want to leave without eating breakfast with you.”

The five year old instantly woke up with a sharp inhale. “He’s leaving?” he gasped.

Hiding his own pain, he smiled softly at the wide purple eyes. “He is Crown Prince of Asgard, Fenrir. He has duties that he must return to. We will see him again soon - only two months! Then we’ll be in Asgard for their winter. You’ll like it - it’s like our spring or early summer. And you’ll be able to spend time with Thor and your grandparents.”

“But,” the little boy interjected, “Why can’t we be with them and them with us all the time? Why is our family apart, Mummy?”

He sat on the bed with a sigh, pulling his waking child into his arms. “Fenny,” he exhaled, “We’ve been through this before, Darling. I am Jotunn and I am the diplomat to the Aesir for my brothers who rule this realm. That is why we live here, were I can be of most use.”

“But Mummy,” Fenrir, the highly intelligent boy, saw through his thoughts, “If you wanted to really wanted to help Uncle ‘Blindi and Uncle By, then you would live more in Asgard and visit Jotunnheim in the Aesir summer, when it’s really hot. Too hot for you and me.”

He chuckled, shaking his horns. The boy was far too bright for his own good. In truth, he couldn’t do his job to the fullest extent by remaining primarily in Jotunnheim, as he was Jotunnheim’s diplomat to Asgard, not vice versa. “I will think about it, Darling, but that’s not going to happen at this very moment. Right now, it’s time for you to get up and out of bed, teeth and hair brushed, fresh clothes on, and downstairs to breakfast. Your tutor will be coming in the late morning, and you need to be ready when he comes.”

“Yes, Mummy,” Fenrir grumbled before placing a tender kiss on his cheek and wrapping his arms around his neck. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Fenny,” he murmured, placing a kiss on his child’s brow and returning his hug fiercely. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Rising, he closed the door behind him and headed to the stairs as Thor’s door opened. “Good Morning, if it can be called morning,” Thor muttered, trying to flatten some of his fur with little success.

“The moon is up,” he replied, cocking an eyebrow, “It is morning. And a good one it is.” He began to descend the steps, calling over his shoulder. “Breakfast is in the dining room, when you’re ready. Though I suggest you hurry - Fenrir’s tutor is due in a couple of hours and you should be on your way back to Asgard before he arrives.”

“What?” the cursed man breathed. “You’re kicking me out?”

He turned to face the Thunderer, brow furrowing. “You wish to stay? Why? After our fight last evening, I’d consider it obvious. Besides, you’re heir of Agard, Odin will be wanting you under his watchful eye, no doubt.”

“I have a few days, actually. Father and Mother support my being here, just as they support my proposal and our union uniting Asgard and Jotunnheim as is should have six years ago.” The man drew himself up to his full height and shifted his weight intimidatingly. “Loki: I was told not to return to Asgard unless you were on my arm. The All-Father and All-Mother - this - this self-imposed exile is ludicrous and without merit. It made sense when the woman was there. You were giving us a chance. But now...Loki, I love you. I want to raise our son with you. I want more children that share our blood, children that will be as precious and talented as Fenrir. Asgard is not the same as when we grew up - can you not remember? After your exile, they welcomed you back and you could wander freely and with great esteem-” 

“It was not sunshine and rainbows, Thor,” he hissed, moving back up the steps. “I made them accept me and tolerate my presence.”

“And now they do that with Jotunn on a daily basis! Why would it be any different for you? For Fenrir?” the taller man snarled, his top teeth revealed beneath a peeled back upper lip. “They more than tolerate me and I’m not even of the Nine. I am a singularity created from a curse and bound to it for the rest of my days, as you are to yours. Fenrir is a shape shifter, he can fit in, if you are worried for him.”

“But that cannot change the fact that, in shifting, he is not being true to himself. I lived in a skin that was not my own for most of my life, Thor. I would not wish it on anyone, especially not my child. And the fact would remain that, no matter what form he opted to take, he would still be the child of monsters. And a bastard at that.”

“Mummy? Thor?”

The clear, high voice of Fenrir Lokison interrupted their heated discussion. Loki felt the blood rush from his face, his stomach and heart plummeting as well. _He heard. He knows_.

Thor recovered quicker than he did, turning to scoop the little boy into his furred chest. “Good Morning, Fenrir!” He beamed brightly. “I’m so glad to see you this fine morning!”

His child scowled in concentration, one hand reaching out and tracing the older man’s tufted ears before trailing down his jowls and tracing along his nose. “That’s why I look like you,” the boy breathed, hands cupping both sides of the bestial man’s face. “You’re my father.” His head turned to fix his bearer in his lilac eyes. “Mummy?”

Unable to keep his gaze steady and firm, he looked down at the ice and cobbled floor. “Fenrir, I was going to tell you, Darling. I’m just sorry that you found out this way.”

“Why, Mummy?” the boy was positively clinging to Thor now, clawed fingers wound through the thick ruff that surrounded the neck of the Aesir. “I love Thor and now we can live together. Be a family.”

Tears springing to his eyes, he took a few steps forward, cupping his child’s chin. “It wouldn’t be that easy, Darling,” he murmured, smiling softly, “We - Thor and I - we’re not Aesir, and you are neither Aesir nor Jotunn because of it. They will treat you differently and I don’t want to see you hurt. You’re too important to me. I love you - more than anything.”

The boy nodded once, showing him that he had understood. His mouth opened however and he murmured, “Me and Thor.”

“What?” he asked, the Thunderer’s own brow furrowing in confusion.

“You love _me and Thor_ more than anything - not just me.” His child smiled kindly at him with understanding beyond his years written in his violet eyes. A clawed hand reached out to him, grabbing his arm firmly. “That’s why you’ve been raising me here, away from my Daddy. It’s okay, Mummy, to be scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes. We’re going to protect each other - because that’s what family does. Right, Mummy?” He couldn’t help but smile, raising the hand grasped in his son’s and giving it a squeeze. The boy’s grin grew as he snuggled closer to the furred man, making his once-brother chuckle, a paw cupping the back of the boy’s head tenderly, his nose snuffling the child’s dark brown hair. His blue eyes flashed to his own ruby pair, asking him if he was ready to commit. Ready to be the prince consort of the future king of Asgard. To live on Asgard for nine months of the year, retreating, as a family, to the realm of winter when the summer heat drove them out.

“Loki?” Thor asked, squatting in his quasi-kneel, setting Fenrir on his feet with a smile before stretching a hand to him and grasping his left hand with his rough padded fingers. “I know that this is the part where I’m supposed to get down on one knee, but, as I lack those, this is the closest I can get.” The other man chuckled tenderly, his eyes, the same as they had always been, filled with sincerity. Fenrir’s purple eyes flitted back and forth, an expectant look written across his face. Thor continued. “Loki Laufeyson, the bearer of my first born child and soon-to-be heir, I cannot live with out you. I cannot function without you. You are my tongue, my arms, my heart. I need you by my side, ruling the Nine, using your Chaotic powers to bring change and equality to the far-reaches, and your knowledge and intellect to bring about an era of peace in Asgard and on Jotunnheim. I want to raise my heir with you. I wish to give him siblings, all of whom, with your guidance, will be true shapers of the Nine. Loki, will you do me the honor of being my consort, my partner for life?”

He gaped, his eyes flooding with icy tears as his heart swelled with unbridled love, taking him by surprised as he melted to the point of no return. “Thor, I-” he stammered in coherently. “You-you want to marry me? After everything I have told you - all of my fears?”

The other man nodded, his eyes shining with tears. “Yes,” he replied, voice rough and raw with emotion. Fenrir was practically jumping up and down, his head turning from one parent to the next with unbridled joy oozing from his very pores.

“Mummy!” the little boy practically shouted, “Say yes!”

Smiling at his child’s antics as well as the incredibly heartfelt and open proposal from Thor, the only man he loved and would ever love, he whispered, “Yes.”


	14. Chapter 13

Despite his rather surprising change of heart he had had in the morning, his anxiety continued to gnaw away at him. _Is this truly for the best? Ruling the realms after my failed attempt at ruling Asgard for three days? Thor is ready - he has been ready - but am I? This role of diplomat was simple, easy, the perfect amount of responsibility. I can change the realms in which I live from here, raising my son without the scrutiny of the Nine. But..._

His eyes flickered to the pair of broad, furred backs that were trekking through the Utgard streets in front of him. Fenrir had insisted on showing his father the city in the moonlight. His furry form looked so tiny in comparison to Thor, who had forgone his learned walking manner on his ‘hind’ legs to chase the little being through piles of snow on four legs, just as Fenrir did in puppy form, their steps pulling them further away from him as they snapped at the falling snowflakes.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Fenny so happy and that’s what made him say yes. He could be brave - he _would_ be brave - for his son, Thor’s heir. They would be a real family, one comprised of monsters, but one nonetheless. He grinned as the flakes began to fall thicker, sending the world into a snow globe like swirl of white. “Fenny!” he called, “Don’t go too far! It could be a squall!”

His son’s joyous bark raced back to him on the wind before it suddenly became a sharp, terrified howl. “Fenrir!” Loki shouted, picking up his pace as the snow continued to thicken, practically blinding him to all else. “FENRIR!”

Thor’s booming voice sliced through the snow. “He’s over here, Loki! He’s in a ravine - I can reach him, just follow my voice!”

His steps took him in stumbling circles as his fight rose and terror blinded him to all else. “FENRIR!” he continued to call, “THOR!”

“LOKI!” Thor sounded much closer, though muffled. Whispering a brief tracking spell, he shot it out, the light guiding his feet to a precipice in the crumbling earth.

“THOR!” he called, kneeling at the edge and peering down into the semidarkness. His not-brother was curled protectively around their son, who was whimpering shrilly.

“Loki,” Thor replied, his ears flicked forward as his eyes were drawn upward, “I think he’s broken something, but I don’t know what. He probably needs to be stabilized before he’s moved.”

Giving the furred man a stiff nod, he wove a spell that encased the crying child and pulled him, slowly despite the immobilization, through the air, out of the ravine and into his trembling arms. “Shhh, Fenny,” he murmured, taking the pup into his arms, his hands slowly traced the whining and whimpering boy’s body, trying to find any breaks. “Thor,” he called back down into the pit in the ice, “Do you need help getting back up?”

“No.” The furred head of his fiancé popped over the edge, his large, ‘paws’ digging their claws into the ice. “Is Fenrir alright?”

The Jotunn returned his attention back to his child, finishing his examination. “His right arm is broken,” he murmured, eyes flashing to the other man as he scrambled out of the hole. “It’ll take a while to heal, unfortunately. Medicine is nearly nonexistent here.”

“We could return home.” Thor was kneeling beside him, paw resting on Fenrir’s head. “We could bring him to Eir.”

He shook his head, not wanting his child in the hands of the Aesir. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Thor,” he murmured, brushing his child’s fur lightly, “He’s not Aesir.”

“He’s not currently Jotunn either,” Thor muttered, “Can you get him to transform back to something more manageable?”

“No,” he whispered, “It’s Fenrir’s seidr, not my own that allows him to take this form.” In his arms, his child yelped, obviously in enormous pain. “Shhh, Baby Boy,” he murmured, “I’m going to immobilize you again, Darling. It will keep the break from getting worse. You’re being so brave, Fenrir, so very brave. My little warrior boy.”

The boy whined piteously again, making his heart break. He had always been so careful, so protective, and now this. His son injured and in his wolf body on Jotunnheim.

“Loki,” Thor said firmly, rising with him, “We’re going to Asgard. Now.” He shook his head again, the immobilizing fear latching onto him again. He did not fight Thor, however, as he was led through Utgard’s streets, the snow squall clearing with each step.

It wasn’t until Thor pulled him into his warm, furred chest, that he realized that he was not at the Consulate. “No,” he stated, trying to pull away, only to get sucked into the Bifrost’s powerful rainbow beam.

His claws skittered across the golden floor as he broke away from Thor and spun, hissing. “How dare you!” He hugged Fenrir tighter against his chest, the boy whimpering in response. Thor looked cowed but equally determined, his hands clenching and unclenching even as his ears pinned themselves against his angular skull. Fury coursing through him, he spun again to face the Golden Watcher. “Heimdall, return me to Jotunnheim.”

“I cannot, my Prince,” the tall man informed him, “The storms around the planet are making it too difficult to see. Returning you could cause more harm to the Jotunn than good to your child.”

“Loki...” Thor cut in, his voice soft.

“NO!” he roared, his lips snarling to reveal his fangs, “Do not speak to me! You disobeyed my wishes. You endangered my son further!” 

“He’s our son,” the Thunderer interjected softly, eyes flickering to Heimdall who knew anyway.

“No,” he snarled, shielding his baby boy protectively in his arms, “He is mine. You just happened to provide the sperm.”

Needing to calm his rage, and unable to think of anything else to do, he stormed away to the mouth of the Observatory and spun his seidr about himself, teleporting into the Halls of Healing. Eir may be able to help his son yet.

__________________________________________

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, hand wrapped around Fenrir’s tinier one, their skin a matching azure. Eir had been able to numb the limb and coax the boy to shift to his most Aesir form, his natural skin, but contact with his own icy exterior had shifted it into the Jotunn pelt that he used for most of the year. Regardless, the healing stones had been applied, and a sleeping draught had been administered to allow the stones to do their work. This meant that Thor had been right in bringing them here, which made him feel horrible for snapping at the other man, the monster within rearing it’s ugly head.

His thumb played over Fenrir’s ridges on the back of his hand, doing nothing to abate his jumbled thoughts and emotions that roiled in his mind and in his heart. He felt as if he had failed as a parent, his child lying on the cot before him. Mending, thankfully, but he had received quite a scare. Thor ( _Oh, I shouldn’t be starting with Thor_ ), had been wonderful, really. He had been attentive and had done everything in his power to comfort Fenrir in his pain and terror. And, as much as he hated to admit it, bringing them to Asgard was a good move.

“How is he?”

The deep voice, rumbling like distant thunder, made him shiver as warmth settled in the pit of his stomach. His thoughts flew from his mind and he looked up, tearing his ruby gaze away from his son’s prone form. Thor’s shaggy, golden form stood in the doorway, crouched a bit as a single finger grazed the marble floor. Beside him, practically hidden from view behind the furred man, stood his adopted parents, their lips thin and pressed together, their hands intertwined so tightly, they were white.

“He is resting and his arm his healing well. A few more hours and his arm will simply be sore, not broken,” He gave them a relieved smile. “Have Helblindi and Byleistr been informed that I am here?”

Odin took a few steps into the room before stopping at the foot of the Healing Table. “They have been informed and they insist that their nephew be given time to properly heal. They do not want to see you back in Jotunnheim until the summer.”

“What?!” he hissed, rising to his feet in shock. “How do they expect me to be their diplomat if I am here for nine months? Fenrir will be better in a day or two, we will return to Jotunnheim then and we’ll return as we agreed, for the winter months.”

“But what of us, Loki?” Thor breathed, his ears drooping. “Do I really mean that little to you that you would promise yourself, make us a family, only to take that back?”

“My child was injured, Thor!” he fired back, his stomach sinking with the other man’s heart-wrenching accusations. “As for this morning, I wasn’t thinking straight - I was caught up in the moment and I caved to the pressure. Fenrir should be raised among his own people, not among those that will fear and shame him.”

“As you were feared and shamed?” The question hung in the air, thickening it to the point that it could have been cut with a knife. That was exactly it - it all came back to his own upbringing and how his life, until thirty-plus years ago, had been a lie and a cover-up, his seidr abilities making the Aesir loath him. He was an enigma, something that they could not grasp, much less understand how the royal family could have produced such an abomination. Fenrir would be the same - maybe not quite ‘how was this thing created’ and more like ‘why are we bowing to a monster’.

He bit his lips, not wanting to say anything hurtful. He sat back down with a sigh, his hand brushing some of his son’s furry fringe from his brow. The little boy sighed in his enchanted slumber, making his lips twitch into a small smile, glad that his child was alright. “I wish everything were as simple as you wished it to be, Thor,” he murmured, his fingers playing through Fenrir’s thick hair-fur, scratching him lightly on the back of one of his pointed ears.

“Why can’t it be, Loki?” Thor whispered, taking a couple steps into the healing room, his claws clicking on the floor. “Why don’t you stay until summer and, if Asgard does not live up to your expectations - if you find that you no longer love me - then leave. Retreat to Jotunnheim until the dead of winter as the contracts state, I will not grudge you for it. But you must try first.” He paused, his wide, blue, Aesir eyes begging him, just as Fenrir’s did. “Please,” the Thunderer breathed, “Loki. Please.”

He sighed, bowing his head and breaking the puppy-eyed gaze of the God of Thunder. It wasn’t much of a choice or struggle. Except that his tumultuous fear was roiling about within him, making his doubt his heart and his mind. His eyes found Fenrir again, the love of his life. He though of the last day and how his son had come alive at the sight of Thor, of his joy about being a proper family. “I will try,” he exhaled, “For you and for Fenrir. But if he wishes to leave, and our agreement has not come to it’s completion, I will take him away. His happiness comes first - always.”

Thor nodded. “Of course. I only want what is best for Fenrir. I always have.”

Frigga’s eyes were clouded with tears. “Loki.”

He paused in his ministrations over his son’s head to look at his mother closely. Regardless of his true parentage, Frigga of Vanaheim had always been his true mother, the one that had accepted him as he was. He gave her a small, tight-lipped smile.

She continued, gracefully moving from the doorway to the bed, sitting on the edge and facing him. She placed a hand on his knee, her heat instantly seeping into his chilled exterior. “I am proud of you, my darling boy,” she murmured, leaning in with a wide smile. “Motherhood suits you well. Fenrir is a lucky boy.”

He shook his head, snorting sardonically. “I am the one who is lucky, Mother, so very lucky. For once, the Norns have smiled on me. This beautiful boy has made me realize that there is more to these worlds than myself.”


	15. Chapter 14

It was another twelve hours before Fenrir came to, his head shifting beneath his hand as he inhaled deeply. “Fenny?” he asked softly, the movement stirring him to wakefulness, as he had, inevitably, drifted off hours before.

Eir had stopped by shortly after his family had left, their steps all a little lighter, even Odin, who would never admit his feelings for him but obviously loved his only grandchild. She had laid his mind to rest and had given him permission to sleep beside his son on the healing table so long as he shielded himself. After the woman disappeared, he had murmured the words that blocked him from the seidr of others, including the healing table, and climbed up, sliding in beside his child and holding him tightly.

The head he cradled continued to swivel but enormous, violet eyes blinked lazily up at him, prompting a wide smile to rise to his thin lips. “How are you feeling, darling?” he murmured, leaning over to press a firm kiss to his son’s brow, feeling the ridges found in his child’s Jotunn form beneath them with a hint of pride. They were his, after all. “You gave Thor and me quite a scare.”

“Wuh-where am I?” Fenrir asked, his voice a bit rough with the lack of use in the last day or so.

“You are in the healing chambers in Asgard,” he replied, propping himself up on an elbow with a smile. “Thor brought you here to heal your arm quickly. A few hours asleep to allow the healing stones to work certainly beats a few months in a cast on Jotunnheim.”

His child stretched in his arms, his skin shifting back to his near-Aesir form, the heat tingling his chest and arms. Unable to resist, he snuggled deeper into his son, nuzzling and tickling him until the boy was howling with laughter. “How does your arm feel?” he chuckled as the five year old gasped for air.

“Hurts but not bad,” Fenrir replied, leaning into his cool expanse and placing a kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Mummy.”

“And I love you, Fenny,” he murmured, holding his only child against him, “I love you too.”

_ _ _ _ _

Eir released his son in the early morning as the sun rose on the new day. Fenrir’s arm was still sore, but it did not hamper the little boy’s snuggling in his arms, hiding his face in the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He allowed his hand to rest on the back of his son’s head, placing sweet kisses into his hair as he walked through the corridors. His eyes roved about the halls, noting the staff as they paused in their steps with soft gasps at the sight of him and his child. Blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment. Why he was still getting embarrassed by his own appearance, much less that of his child, shocked him. He was who he was, Fenrir was who he was, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Reaching his chambers, which had not changed since they vacated the premises over a month ago, he felt a sense of relief to be out of the scrutiny of the Asgardian populace. Sighing, he placed his slumbering son on the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Placing another kiss on his brow he retreated from the bed chamber and into his study. He had much he had to do in preparation for his lengthy stay in Asgard, the first of which was establishing a more permanent consulate in Asgard for the Jotunn. Which, of course, needed to be approved by the co-rulers of the Winter Realm.

Loki moved silently through his rooms before reaching his study, lined with his precious books, leather-bound and ancient, filled with seemingly immeasurable wisdom and knowledge. His desk, clear for once, stood opposite the door, framed by two floor to ceiling windows. His feet led him there with a brief stop at the shelf that housed his scrying bowl, silver and etched with intricate runes.

He set it on the bowl on the polished mahogany and sat with a soft murmur, his hand summoning ice and causing an image to stir within it. “Loki.”

He sat swiftly, bowing his head. “Helblindi-King,” he stated, reverently, “Byleistr-King.”

“How is our nephew?” his eldest brother intoned, his garnet eyes filled with concern. “We were worried when we heard of your sudden departure.”

He gave a small smile. “He is well and resting. Aesir medicine is truly miraculous. Maybe, through our new agreements, we may learn from their healers?”

Byleistr was nodding his agreement, though Helbindi looked wary. It made sense. His eldest sibling had lived through the Great War and had an inbred mistrust of the Aesir because of it. Knowing that he needed to change the subject tactfully and quickly, he asked, “What would you have me do now that you have banished me until the summer heat creeps into Asgard? I was considering establishing a consulate - one that would be perfect for any and all Jotunn who wish to spend extended time in this realm.”

“That would be a great project,” Byleistr stated, his own pleasure barely hidden, “Though we have been informed of your engagement to Thor-Prince of Asgard. It is a good match, Loki-brother.”

He shook his head with an audible guffaw. “Are you certain? I am worried about the match and what living here could do to Fenrir.”

“Loki,” Helblindi said firmly, “This is what our people need. You should do everything in your power to make it work. Our nephew is strong, more than you give him credit for. You use him to shield your own fear of love.”

He knew that his brother’s words were true, but it hurt to hear them nonetheless. He sighed, breaking eye contact with the figures in the ice, and muttered, “You’re right. You’re right. I simply don’t want him to have the life that I have had.”

“You are only unhappy because you’re denying yourself, Loki,” Byleistr stated, drilling his thoughts home, plainly and bluntly. “Thor loves you. You pine after him while in Jotunnheim. How else would a child be produced between you? A Once-Aesir and a Jotunn - a coupling such as that, even in Heat, would not result in offspring. Unless the truest love was shared between the sire and the bearer.”

Helblindi was nodding wisely, agreeing with the middle child of Laufey. “‘Tis true, Brother,” he murmured, “Such a thing would not have been possible.”

“Thor’s the God of Fertility,” he muttered, trying to find the flaw in his sibling’s logic.

“And he has how many children by the Witch?” Heblindi cocked an eyebrow, coyly. Byleistr was laughing hysterically, finding the empty womb of the Enchantress positively hilarious. “Come now, Loki! Allow yourself to be truly happy. The Aesir may surprise you. They have been tolerant of our artisans thus far.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a huff, “I only wish to serve, your majesties.”

Heblindi rolled his eyes before giving him a solid nod and breaking the connection with Byleistr still roaring with laughter in the background.

He melted the ice and pushed his scrying bowl away, resting his head in his hands wearily. He had been in Asgard for less than twenty-four hours and he was already exhausted. He felt overly warm, even though it was autumn, and he could feel his wintery seidr working overtime to cool his body. He was overly stressed, what with Fenrir’s accident and injury as well as his rapid healing and current state of recovery. He wasn’t sure the last time he had slept but he was too worried about his son to do so. Grasping his horns to ground himself and pull his thoughts back to reality, he released a soft groan that sounded a bit like ‘Thor’ but he would neither confirm or deny it.

“Mum?” Fenrir’s voice was soft, if not a bit raw from lack of use. He rose instantly from his chair, his feet rapidly closing the distance between himself and his bedroom and his son. As he rounded the corner, he saw his child, wrapped tightly in his emerald sheets and comforter, looking a bit discombobulated.

“Fenny,” he murmured, traversing the room with his ground-eating strides, “How are you feeling, Darling?”

“I feel really tired and my arm hurts,” his child mutter-whined, looking at him glumly over the edge of the coverings.

Sighing, Loki sat on the bed and patted his son’s leg before resting a hand on his brow. “You are welcome to rest, Fenny,” he murmured, “There is nowhere we need to be today. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

His child nodded. “Could I have a cup of water, please?”

Swirling his hand and whispering the words, a cup of cool, clean water appeared on his bedside table. “There, Darling,” he smiled softly, “Are you in need of anything else?”

After a pause, Fenrir grinned. “A story?” His eyes widened into his begging face, lower lips sticking out slightly under violet orbs. _So like his sire_.

Grinning, Loki laid beside his child with an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I could summon the energy to tell you a story. What would you like to hear?”

“Something about you and Thor - when you were my age!” His son snuggled into his side as he looped an arm around his slim child, careful of the repaired arm that lay across his son’s chest.

“Well,” he began, jogging his memory, “When I was but a young twig of a child - like you - Thor was...oh, goodness...57-58? Something like that. Either way, he was grown and had already gone on a few campaigns and I was simply a pest, a thorn in his side, though he was always kind to me. Anyway, there was one particularly hot day that summer and I was feeling a bit droopy-”

“You had heat sickness!” Fenrir interjected, correctly, no doubt having heard the term in Jotunnheim.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I had heat sickness, though I did not know I was Jotunn at the time, so I simply thought that it was the hottest it had ever been! Either way, Thor saw that I was really hot and he threw me upon his horse and rode me out to a very secluded lake and simply tossed me in!”

“He didn’t!” Fenrir giggled, enthralled.

“Oh, he did!” Loki chuckled. “It was lucky that I was able to swim, but I felt instantly better. Every day after that, for the rest of the summer, Thor relieved my nanny of me and brought me to the lake. That continued well into the autumn and it was really the first time that Thor spent extended periods of time with me. Even though I was his annoying younger brother.”

“Mummy?” Fenrir’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, his fangs showing as he yawned.

“Hmmm?” he hummed, turning his head to look at his child, giving him a bit of a squeeze.

“Am I going to get a younger brother?” The wide, violet eyes were boring into his soul.

“Someday, Fenny,” he murmured, “You will have a younger sibling. I promise you.”

The little boy, having heard something that pleased him, snuggled deeper into his cool side, sighing contentedly. “I love you Mummy,” the boy sighed, his warm breath making his skin pimple with the heat.

Placing another kiss on Fenrir’s golden brow, Loki replied, “As I love you, Fenny, my brave and bonny boy.”

He lay there, waiting until his son fell asleep, his deep breathing timing perfectly with his heartbeat, thinking about the future as his fingers carded his child’s hair comfortingly.

“Loki?” Thor’s gruff, deep voice was trying it’s best to be quiet as his furred head popped into the room.

He hummed in reply, not wanting to wake their healing child, his eyes finding those of the cursed man. Thor’s muzzle burst into one of his jowly smiles as he surveyed the scene before him, his large head cocking as his features softened. “How is Fenrir?”

The child shifted beneath his arm, rolling away from his cold torso with a soft grumble. Smiling with his eyes, he extricated himself from the bed and turned back to arrange the blankets around the small, half-Jotunn child that had captured and held his heart since his conception. He placed another kiss on his son’s brow and retreated, pushing Thor from the room gently but firmly, closing the door behind them. “He is well,” he replied, “Tired from the healing, but he will be back to his antics tomorrow I am sure.”

He paused, flushing under the gaze of the older man. “Thank you, Thor...for bringing him here. You were right - it is better than having him here, with Healers than in Jotunnheim where...” He sighed shaking his head, surprised at his own inability to speak eloquently. “Just...thank you, Thor. For...everything.”

Thor cocked his head, looking rather confused. “Of course, Loki,” he said, a hand twitching by his side as he loomed over his thin, azure frame. “He is my son, too, you know.”

“I am aware of that fact,” Loki muttered under his breath, hoping that the other man wouldn’t hear. Judging by the swiveling of the other man’s ears, his utterance did not go unnoticed. “I don’t mean it maliciously,” he countered, his hand shooting out to grip the other man’s arm firmly, the heat radiating through his palm, “I am very aware of our son’s parentage - he is the best part of each of us, isn’t he?”

One of Thor’s hand came to rest over his with a gentle amount of pressure. “Yes, indeed he is,” the Thunderer breathed, his eyes wide and so Aesir, his pupils dilated. “Loki, I-”

“Thor.” He held up his hand, placing his free hand on his not-brother’s cheek. “I’ve been an absolute idiot these last few years, finding excuses to shield myself from my feelings - Using that Woman and Fenny to keep me from falling in too deep again. I’ve been afraid of love, Thor, because the last time I loved anyone as fiercely as I do you, I Fell.” He shook his head, his lips pressing together hard to keep the tears from falling from his eyes. “I couldn’t do that again - I can’t. And I can’t have Fenrir feeling as worthless as I did in that moment.” The tears were trickling down his cheeks now, tracing the ridges that were carved there. He took a shaky inhale, sniffling and brushing the icy trails from his face with the back of one of his hands. “But I’m ready now, Thor. I’m ready to try again because I see _you_ , Thor, and I love you.”

The massive head of the furred man came to rest along the juncture of his neck and shoulder, snuffling and licking. The built arms of the God of Thunder wrapped around his frame, pulling him close.

He responded in kind, his fingers threading through the dense, tangle of gold over the other man’s shoulders. His lips pressed themselves into the shorter fur that had sprouted along the Aesir’s handsome, shifted face, unable to get enough.

The God of Thunder left off his ministrations to grumble, the sound rumbling in his chest, “I love you too, Loki. I always have.”


	16. Chapter 15

He couldn’t help but smile at the building before him with it’s towering doors and windows and it’s arching ceilings. It loomed over the other consulates that surrounded it - out of necessity, of course, the Jotunn being too tall to fit into the normal Aesir buildings comfortably.

Four months ago, he had wanted to leave Asgard behind him, run from his fear. Now, as everything was coming together, he was glad that he had opted to stay. The first few weeks had been difficult and he had cried himself to sleep, holding his precious offspring to his chest protectively, more often than not. The Aesir were cruel, hurtling insults (And other, more substantial things) at him and his son as they traversed the city, scouting locations for the Consulate of Jotunnheim and reacquainting themselves with their ‘new’ home. His status as disowned Prince of Asgard, diplomat to the dying Realm of Winter, Third Prince of Jotunnheim, and future Consort of the Heir of Asgard kept things from getting too uncontrollable, but it did not keep the populace from outwardly showing their severe dislike for him and his bastard child in a verbal fashion.

He closed his eyes, thinking back over the last few months of struggle and triumph to the moment that he knew everything would be alright. That he could live an amazing life. Here, on Asgard, with Thor. It had been a little over a month ago, a third of the way into his quasi-exile, right as the cooler air was blowing through the golden city, bearing with it snowflakes and thoughts of his second home in Jotunnheim.

_The stars were visible through the thin, gossamer curtains, hanging there as the crystalline tears hung off his lower eyelid. Fenrir had been called ‘vermin’ earlier, though he didn’t know what it meant, his tail wagging at the acknowledgement from the chief builder of the Jotunn Consulate. His own fingers, tightening on his son’s hand, twitched with the need to curse the man into an unsavory state. But he didn’t, not wanting Fenny to learn the true meaning of the word spewed at him in disgust - at least, not yet._

_Now, as he lay in bed, his child’s furry head on his collarbone, he let his fury and loathing bubble to the surface as it had so many times before. The door to the bed chamber that he shared with his son (It wasn’t that Fenrir didn’t have his own room - he did, he just never slept there, forgoing privacy for comfort) swung open soundlessly, illuminating a large and rather terrifying silhouette. Loki inhaled sharply but did not cry out, recognizing the ears and wild fur of his betrothed._

_“Loki?” Thor rumbled softly, taking a few steps into the room and closing the door behind him. “Is Fenrir asleep?”_

_He nodded, “Yes, he’s asleep.”_

_The cursed man’s steps quickly traversed the open ground and stopped as he squatted beside the bed, a massive paw coming to rest on his shoulder. “Is he alright? I heard that the chief architect insulted him. He has since been removed from his post.” Thor’s voice was soft, barely audible over the soft breeze that played through the open window, but his hand was searing._

_He shook his head. “He’s five, Thor. Nearly six. He didn’t understand the insult, thank the Norns, but I certainly did.”_

_“It won’t happen again regardless, Loki,” the Thunderer murmured, his hand brushing gently along his cheek, warming the icy trails that had collected there after his son had fallen asleep. “I won’t let it happen again. You are my betrothed - if you will it - and Fenrir is my son. My heir, Norns willing. He will not be called anything but ‘Prince of Asgard’ or ‘Your Majesty’ again. I swear it, Loki. I truly do.”_

_He couldn’t help but smile, snuffling a bit as his own hand found the Prince of Asgard’s cheekbone, hidden beneath his thickening coat. “Thank you, Thor,” he murmured, “I simply wish that such promises had been uttered during my upbringing. Maybe then things would have been different.”_

_Thor cocked his head slightly, his eyes dashing between his own pair, and his exposed arm. “We can’t change the past. And even in this...state...I would not wish it. Not when it has brought me the dearest and most sincere love that I have ever known.”_

_He flushed, giving the other man a gentle tug. “Me too, Thor,” he murmured, “Thank you for helping me to see that.” Smirking a bit, he tilted his head, inclining it to their child. “Come. There is plenty of room for everyone. Sleep with us, Thor.”_

_The other man smiled his slobbery smile, his tail wagging a bit. Slowly, he rose and walked around the bed. Carefully, so as to not wake his child, he crawled onto the bed and curled around Fenrir, his paws brushing gently against his skin, making him shiver but snuggle in closer._

The memory made him grin secretively, turning away from the building and striding down the gilded cobblestone streets, his claws clicking and ricochetting off the stones. Today was Fenrir’s birthday. It was the day that his life had truly changed, in more ways than one. The most obvious was the addition of a child in his life and the loss of the extra poundage between his hips. The less obvious on the exterior was the awakening of his instincts, which still cropped up every now and again in his overprotective streak, though he had yet to crave more of his bodily waste, so he considered it a victory in his book.

Today, however, he would not think about such things. Today was all about Fenrir, his brilliant child, and what he wanted. Fenny had wanted to go out to the lake where he and Thor had spent much of his youth. It would require a short ride, for which Fenrir would be riding solo for the first time (Which he was incredibly nervous about), but that was what his child wanted. Thor, being Heir Apparent of Asgard, had given the boy a pony, a little tubby creature with a sweet disposition that did not seem to mind the predatory smell that accompanied his rider. His own mount was a borrowed mare from Frigga, as his charger no longer recognized nor trusted his scent. His fiancé was unable to ride, his ‘hind’ legs making sitting in a saddle near impossible, and so he would be trotting along beside them in his long, loping four-legged stride. They would certainly be a sight, accompanied by Odin and Frigga, but it would be lovely to escape the confines of the city for a while, even if the weather was less than ideal for the two Aesir.

When he entered the main foyer of the palace, he was not surprised in the least to find his family waiting for him, hampers of lunch sitting about them along with blankets and cushions.

“Mummy!” his child exclaimed, rushing into his arms as if they had been separated for centuries instead of an hour.

“Happiest of Birthdays, my Beloved!” he replied, scooping the now six-year old up and giving him a spin, noting that he was getting big. “Are you ready to venture to the lake?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” the boy chirped, practically launching himself from his arms and rushing to grab his bundle of blankets. With an authoritative finger, he pointed to a pair of small hampers. “Those are yours, Mummy.”

“Why thank you, Darling,” he chuckled, bending over to pick up his baggage, “I never would have guessed and someone might have had to go hungry without them.”

“Norns’ forbid!” Frigga chuckled as Odin rolled his eyes even as he smiled.

It fascinated Loki to no end to see his son interact with his grandfather. The older man had hidden his very being from him for the entirety of his young life because of his heritage and the implications that came from it. And yet, he was ruffling Fenrir’s fur-like hair without a second thought. _It’s because he is half-Thor_ , he reasoned, following his family out into the courtyard where their horses waited, _That must be it - The Golden Son through and through_.

Servants and staff were quickly taking baskets and bundles, tying them behind saddles securely as grooms stood a the horses’ heads, cooing softly. Fenrir bounded to his pony, whose nostrils flared but didn’t move a muscle, and clambered up enthusiastically. “What have you named her?” Thor asked, beaming proudly, no doubt remembering his first pony, or even that of his younger brother.

“Ískristallurinn!” the boy proclaimed, giving the white neck a gentle pat, “Because she’s white, like snow.”

“A noble name for a fine beast,” the furred man proclaimed boisterously. Even Loki smiled, his lips pressed together over his teeth. The mare shifted as he rose in the stirrup but made no move to toss him, so he settled down into the saddle, instantly regretting the loincloth as the leather and fur rubbed at his exposed ice-channelling ridges. “Shall we move out, Fenrir?”

“Yes!” his son shouted, beaming like the sun. Thor walked beside the boy, watching him and making sure the pony didn’t bolt, even as he chewed his lower lip nervously, his mare right behind.

His worry was all for not, Fenrir taking to riding just as his father had: like a fish to water. The little white pony had been a good choice on his fiancé’s part. The passage through the city was probably the most cheerful that he had been a part of in a long time. His son beamed, thinking that they were cheering for him, waving to the crowds that had gathered. He knew that the crowd was there, not for the bastard child, but for the sire. Few people had laid eyes on Thor in his furred state outside the palace walls. There had been no wars, peace was flourishing, and the Golden Prince was preparing for the Crown - very seriously this time, his studies keeping him occupied. It was something of which the Jotunn was very proud. The crowds, however, simply wanted to see the spectacle for themselves, their curiosity insatiable.

Needless to say, Loki breathed a heavy sigh of relief once the city passed behind them. He was at the end of their little parade, ready to swoop in if Fenrir’s mount proved problematic. Odin and Frigga, being the Rulers of the Nine Realms, were obviously in front. Sandwiched between them was Thor and their child, trotting along, one on the back of his birthday gift, the other on his own four ‘legs.’ They were laughing gaily, making him smile. He was glad that he had made the decision to let Thor in. Fenrir deserved more than to simply know his father. And, through his banishment and curse, Thor had become a man of whom he was immensely proud to call his betrothed. He may be a monster, but Thor most certainly was not.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Why can’t we go swimming, Mum?” Fenrir asked for the fifth time, violet eyes huge. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Darling, even with your genetic inheritance, you would succumb to hypothermia. The water is too cold. It is winter, after all.”

“But you could go swimming, right Mummy?” Thick, chocolatey eyelashes were being batted at him now. Suddenly, he realized just what his son was getting at.

“I know that you want Thor and I to relive the summer when I was 57, but it is not summer, and much has changed since then. Maybe in late spring or early fall, right before or after we sojourn to Jotunnheim, we can come back and go swimming. How does that sound, Fenny?”

The little boy beamed brightly and scampered off to explore a thatch of bushes that had sprouted through several large boulders with an intense and acute interest. Loki sighed again, shaking his head slightly at the sight. “Be careful!” he called, getting a smile and a nonchalant wave from the boy, his tail wagging with bright curiosity.

“He grows so much,” his mother murmured, her lips curved in a soft smile. “It is difficult to think that he is only six.”

“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the blue cloaked back of the child he bore, “I see it every day. And every day it makes me immensely proud and so very sad all at once.”

A warm hand, coated in a soft woolen mitten covered his with a squeeze. “I understand the feeling. It is the feeling that only a mother can know.” Loki smiled in reply, glad to know that he wasn’t being overprotective of the babe.

A grumbling cough sounded behind him, making his head whip around to find Thor standing above him. The furred man had wandered off for a bit with his father, their heads bowed together in deep thought. Loki’s brow furrowed, curious that Thor obviously wished to speak with him even as Odin sat heavily with a soft groan. “Yes?” he asked, already guessing at the answer, his eyes darting to the All-Father who gave him a rather pointed look. _Am I no longer a marriage prospect?_ he wondered, feeling the blanket of seriousness descend on their once light-hearted gathering.

“Loki,” Thor murmured, offering a paw, “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk?”

Taking the offered hand, still a bit confused, he rose whispering, “Yes, Thor. Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ískristallurinn is Icelandic for Snowflake or small ice crystals


	17. Chapter 16

The other man was walking along on ‘four’ legs, a habit that he had picked up as a coping mechanism, a nervous tick, a tell. He didn’t say anything, waiting for Thor to tell him what he wished to say. Something was obviously weighing on the Thunderer’s mind.

Instead, he enjoyed walking along the paths that he had run when he was a child. His gaze found the sparse landscape eerily beautiful, as it was on Jotunnheim. But with more vegetation, now arrangements of frost-coated branches and twigs. The river, coated in ice, was peaceful, the rushing water gurgling beneath, kissing the glass-like surface.

The sound of a clearing throat pulled his attention back to the man he loved. Thor was squatting by a copse of shrubs that seemed to grow into an arching heart shape. There were even large snow blossoms ( _My favorite flower)_ growing along it. One of his paw-like hands was extended towards him. His face was serene and incredibly sincere. “Loki.”

The Jotunn scrunched his brow, confused. His mouth opened slowly, only for him to snap it shut again. “Thor? What is all this?” The hand opposite him shook, the ‘fingers’ extending slightly. “Loki. I have talked to Father and he has given us permission to wed. And so, I ask with all my heart: Loki, my Shield Brother, the Mother of my Son, the most beautiful and perfect being in all the Universes, would you do me the honor of being my true partner?”

Loki was dumbfounded and overwhelmed and so very touched. He gasped, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his ruby eyes. Biting his lower lip, he stammered, “Only if you would do me the honor of being mine, Heir of Asgard.”

Thor beamed, sweeping him into his strong, capable arms. His cool nose snuffled the juncture of his neck as he wove his fingers through the other man’s shaggy winter coat, his lips pressed against the beginning of Thor’s mane. “I love you, Thor,” he murmured, realizing it with an elated rush of warmth.

“As I love you, Loki,” the other man murmured, pulling him closer, his tongue tracing one of his neck ridges tenderly. He shivered against the golden warmth of the god who held him.

“We should tell Fenrir,” he whispered, pulling back to place a kiss on the end of the Thunderer’s nose. “He’ll be thrilled.”

“Of course,” Thor replied boisterously, stepping back to take his hand, the pair of them walking back to the water’s edge and the picnic that they had left behind.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The fact that neither one of them had lost favor with the rulers of Asgard set the populace on edge. Two monsters given free rein, as it were, among the noble Aesir. What was worse, however, was the announcement of their impending marriage. Two monsters would be ruling Asgard in the future and the Aesir feared how it would effect their perfect, god-like image among the Nine.

The unrest of the people did not bother Thor in the slightest. It made Loki uneasy but he hid it as well as he could, especially when in the presence of his family. Fenrir was an overwhelming well of relentless energy, already running about the palace and grounds as if he already was the Heir of Thor, fearing nothing. It brought him much joy, even as it brought him so much heartache and worry.

Plans for the wedding were pulled together quickly and Jotunnheim was informed. The kings, his elder brothers, would not be joining them as the winter that encased the realm was impossible to travel through. They did send their best regards and arrangements for the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters were made.

In less than two weeks’ time, the day had arrived.

“Mum,” Fenrir whispered, snuggling into his side, his violet eyes wide and questioning, “Are you ready?”

He smiled softly, allowing one of his clawed hands to brush through his son’s fur-like hair, curling it behind a pointed ear. “Yes, my Darling,” he murmured, “I am very ready.” He sighed, rolling closer to press a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Are you?”

The little boy nodded, bouncing the entire mattress with his enthusiasm. “YES!”

Before he could say another word, his beloved child rushed from the room proclaiming for all to hear: “It’s today! It’s today!”

With a tired sigh, regretting that he had not been able to calm his nerves for more than a few hours of sporadic sleep, he rose and went to his wardrobe. Hidden behind his usual clothing of loose tunics and soft breeches as well as an over abundance of loincloths, he found his ceremonial dress. With a stabilizing inhale, he began pulling the leather and metal about his body with a fierce determination. He was prince of the realm, soon to be the consort of the Heir. He needed to look the part, even if it was uncomfortable.

Fenrir returned about an hour later, Frigga in tow. “Oh, Loki,” she breathed, rushing to help him with the final buckles of his dress uniform, “You look handsome.”

“I look ridiculous,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Green, Blue, Red, and Gold - I fear that the colors clash horrifically.”

“You look beautiful, Mummy,” his son stated, taking his hand, his Aesir skin a beautiful contrast to his azure and silver skin.

Smiling at the child, Loki noted the armor of bronze, black and navy that he wore. “No, Fenny,” he beamed, “You are the beautiful one.”

“Everything is ready, Darling,” Frigga stated, withdrawing, “I shall see you in my chambers.” With a soft smile, she slipped through the door.

Checking his hair one last time, Loki knelt, trying to brush and flatten Fenrir’s thick, brown hair. As he finished, he pulled the boy that he had carried into his arms. “Shall we go meet your father?”

Tears prickling at the corners of his impossible violet eyes, the boy nodded and took his hand, pulling him from the room. Their steps were followed by the eyes of the staff and the lesser nobles, as it always did. Today, however, he was not bothered by it.

His son pulled him forward until they stopped outside of his mother’s private sitting room, his free hand pushing the doors inward. The opened doors revealed hundreds of lit candles and an archway made of intertwining flowers under which the Allfather and Allmother stood. Thor joined them, stepping forward in his best clothes, his scarlet cape rich and new. Frigga was dressed in white and silver, her husband in white and gold, his armor shining in the sunlight from the setting orb.

“Shall we begin?” Frigga, Goddess of Marriage asked, beaming from beneath the archway, her arms open to them. Even Odin looked pleased beneath his stoic gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. Fenrir squeezed his hand fiercely, his excitement and happiness palpable.

He nodded, any capacity to speak lost in his joyful bliss and the reciprocated emotions found in the eyes of the man beside him.

_ _ _ _ _

That evening, after much feasting in a rather small affair by Aesir standards, Loki found himself flushed and overly warm. He knew what is was as the first tendrils twisted within his gut. What confused him, however, was that it was not time for his heat. Sniffing his wine while trying to ignore the amazing scent that seemed to roll off his husband, he shot his mother a glance. The woman raised her eyebrows knowingly. “ _Mother..._ ” he grated, beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

“What was that, Loki?” Thor asked, leaning towards him and away from their soon-to-be first-born. His face instantly became riddled with concern. “You are turning purple.”

He leaned closer, trying and failing to keep his nose from snuffling along the Thunderer’s furry jaw. “ _Mother_ slipped a sexual stimulant into my wine. I’m in heat and we should go.”

“Your-?”

“Yes!” he insisted, rising and tugging his mate up with him. Thor gave a surprised grunt, impressed by his strength. He grinned at the crowd, aware that they were being watched by every eye within the Hall as well as outside it (For gossiping tongues would wag on the morrow). “Excuse us,” he stated.

“Mummy?” his child asked, wide-eyed.

He bent slowly, feeling his lower abdomen cramp with the unwanted motion. He needed to leave now, or else Thor would be taking him on the table in front of their guests, like the beasts that they were. “Your father and I are going to bed now, my Bonny Boy. I’m not feeling very well. Your grandparents will watch you for tonight.”

“Okay,” the boy said, throwing his little arms about his neck and placing a firm yet wet kiss on his overly warm cheek. “Feel better.”

He smiled, stroking the faint ridges on Fenrir’s cheek before placing a kiss on his son’s brow. “I will, Fenny. Don’t you worry about me, Darling.”

Quickly and without any pomp or circumstance, he shot Frigga a meaningful glance and rushed his new husband from the room. They had another baby to make.


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter depicts childbirth. It's similar to the last one, so if it wasn't your cup of tea, skip it!

The morning came, glorious and cool. A gorgeously azure body, so lean and well-muscled was wrapped securely in his arms. Loki’s heat, a surprise wedding gift from their mutual mother, had passed, and thus, his impending fatherhood was imminent. He tightened is grip, snuggling closer to the man that he loved.

“Hmmm,” the Jotunn hummed, his glorious ruby eyes blinking at him lazily. “Good morning, Thor.”

He snuffled his husband’s neck, his tongue teasing one of the silvery ridges there. “Good morning, Loki. What a wonderful morning it is, to wake with you in my arms.”

The blue man smiled softly, one of his hands moving to stroke his taut stomach. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. The things I did with Fenrir...”

“You are not alone this time, Loki. You will never be alone again, I swear,” he vowed. “We will have this child together, and raise it with our first-born - my heir - Fenrir.”

“You will have him crowned?” Loki breathed, his eyes widening. “You think him worthy?”

“No one is more worthy that Fenrir,” he intoned, a paw-like hand, brushing a few of the ebony locks from his lover’s horns. “You have raised him well. He is caring and attentive, studious in all disciplines. He is a child of two worlds and he knows them both. He is perfect for the future of Asgard and of the Nine Realms. He shall be my heir, I can feel it in my bones.”

A brilliant grin, bright as the sun greeted this announcement, following by a kiss filled with such love that he wished he could blush. Their eyes met each other and simply stayed there, falling through the depths of the other. Finally, Loki broke their eye contact, flushing a lovely shade of violet. “We should go, greet our family and our people. Share our good news.”

_ _ _ _ _

As much as he was looking forward to another child (Fenrir was positively overjoyed by the prospect of being an elder sibling), he had forgotten how miserable it could be. He had lost his trim waist about a month ago, a soft rounding appearing between his hips. Now his nipples were becoming sensitive, another month or so, and his chest would soften into breasts. That and he simply could not keep anything in his stomach for more than the briefest amount of time. This child, unlike Fenrir, was a finicky eater.

The sound of claws on two sets of paws made him open his eyes, blinking at the mid-morning light and moan at it’s sudden intrusion into his consciousness. _Add migraines to the list of why I should never get pregnant again_ , he noted. Despite his discomfort, he smiled at his husband of nearly five months and his son, who was traipsing about their rooms in his wolf-shape today, his tail wagging furiously.

Thor came to him, squatting beside his settee before tracing his cheek with a cupped paw. “How are we feeling today?”

“Simultaneously starving and disgusted by the very thought of food,” he groaned softly, not wanting to worry his son. He allowed a hand to play along his bump, caressing it tenderly. “I bet it’s a girl. That’s why she hates me so much.”

Instead of responding verbally, his husband moved to rest his head against his brow, a large hand cupping the back of his head, helping to ease his headache. The women of Asgard in particular, while none would want to marry and bed Thor, they were outraged that _he_ did. He had been surprised at first, especially since the diplomats and law-makers had been supportive after he had proven that he could, in fact, rule a country well. Women, however, were a mystery that he would probably never understand.

A warmth spread along his front, cradling his stomach as Fenrir, still entirely furry, curled up beside him. He smiled, stroking and teasing his eldest’s triangular ears. He was, yes starving and nauseous, but he was content and so blessed.

_ _ _ _ _

The waiting was worst. Listening through the doors but being barred from being there beside his beloved in his time of need. He could hear Loki’s increasingly weak cries through the thick oak door that separated them and he struggled to not break down the door with Mjölnir (hanging faithfully at his hip once again) and rush to the smaller man’s side. His pacing had dropped to his four ‘legs’ after the first hour of waiting. That was seven hours ago and his nerves were fraying badly.

His parents had come shortly after Loki had gone into labor, his mother followed by a contingent of healers and a midwife. Fenrir had been unceremoniously shuffled to the Warriors Four for watching (They were all enamored with the seven year old that it was a treat for all of them). Even as the Jotunn had insisted repeatedly that he wanted Thor beside him, their mother had given him a gentle smile and shoved him, unceremoniously, into his father’s surprisingly strong grasp. The Allfather, in turn, had pushed him from the room, his claws leaving long scratches in the marble as he tried valiantly to resist.

“Thor,” his father muttered wearily for what must have been the three hundredth time, “He will be fine, he is in good and capable hands. Pacing is only going to tire you and, with a newborn to care for, there is no sense in having both of you exhausted beyond measure.”

He stopped, tearing his gaze off the door to meet the intense gaze of the one, all-seeing eye. “He’s been at it for so long now. What if there are complications? What if there’s something wrong?” He sat, tail curling around his toes, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the floor.

“There is nothing that you can do that your Mother and the healers cannot.” The older god smiled. “He will be just fine, as will the child. It is still early yet.”

“ _EARLY?!_ ” he roared, leaping up in alarm. “It’s been eight hours!”

“And some labors last for nearly twenty. You were particularly difficult, as I recall, part of the reason why we opted for adoption.”

“That’s why you stole Loki? Because I was difficult to birth?” He glared at the other man accusingly.

“No,” Odin replied, “I saved him.” He leaned forward in his seat. “He was so small, abandoned at birth, is my guess. Laufey would never have left him to die if he had realized the power that his new son had.” His eye took on a far-off, glassy quality as he continued softly. “But, there he was, squalling amid the storm, naked and alone on an alter. An offering to the Gods of Winter to ensure Jotunn victory. I couldn’t leave him, not after so much blood had been spilled by my spear. He was innocent, newly birthed. So I picked him up and he changed before my eyes, shifting his skin to match mine.”

“Loki can shift his form?” he asked, staring blankly at the juncture where the floor met the wall. Confused.

“Yes,” the King of Asgard replied. “He’s always been particularly talented at it.”

“But you stole that power from him when you banished him to Jotunnheim.” “I took it from him until he could see value in all life. He has had the ability to become what ever form he pleases for nearly twenty years now. Of course, living among the Jotunn on Jotunnheim, it would be wise to wear his natural skin.”

He could feel the intense gaze of the Allfather on him and yet, he kept his gaze low and unfocused. “Then, why does he remain they way he is? In his Jotunn form, where the people around him view him as nothing more than a monster in Aesir clothing?”

“That would be a question to ask Loki, though I speculate that it has something to do with you, my Son.” He looked up and was greeted by a rare smile from his father.

“Me?”

“Yes,” he replied, the smile becoming soft about the edges, “So that you are not alone.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

All thoughts of wanting to castrate if not kill Thor dissipated with one sweet, high sound. His instincts had risen, full force, to the fore of his mind. He had almost bitten one the healers, causing them all to back away slowly, and he had leveraged himself off the birthing bed to rest between it and the table beside it, his back and sides supported as he squatted there, head bent. He felt as if he had been split in half, everything aching, and he had lost nearly all of his fight when his mother had softly said, “I see a head. At the next contraction push.”

And he had, bearing down with his last ounce of strength as he roared. He allowed his mother’s arms to come beneath him, leaving his arms free to add extra leverage which he had not had with Fenrir. Then the pain had stopped, replaced by the beautiful sound. His child’s first breath and it’s first cry. Tears ran down his face from sheer exhaustion and complete joy.

“Congratulations, Loki,” Frigga said beaming as she looked down at the squirming bundle in her arms, “It’s a girl.”

He allowed his head to fall back, his horns clunking against the headboard as his chest heaved and he sobbed. The healers, gaining a bit of courage, busied themselves around him and his baby, which never once left the All-Mother’s arms or his sight. A cool cloth cleaned his tired frame, ridding it of ice, sweat, and blood. Another nurse rebraided his thick, tangled hair. The sheets, covered in after birth and placenta, were changed, he was tucked in comfortably and the women left, leaving him alone with his mother and his child.

“May I see her?” he asked, excited but exhausted.

“Of course,” Frigga replied, walking over to him and offering the bundle to his waiting arms. “She will probably want to eat soon, as will you, I suspect.”

He smiled, his eyes fixed on the child before him. His eyes flickered upwards to meet his mother’s. He flushed and focused his gaze on his daughter. “I have need of the umbilical chord and the placenta. Be sure that they are not disposed of.”

Frigga, to her credit, did not bat an eyelash at the request. “I will see that they are brought to you.”

He grinned tiredly. “Where is Thor? He should be here to greet his child.”

She smiled back at him. “I’m sure that he’ll come bounding in as soon as I open the doors. Are you sure you wouldn’t like peace and quiet a bit longer?”

He chuckled, his gaze returned to his beautiful baby girl, “Please, let him in.” He heard her feet leave his bedside and go to the doorway of the bedroom that he shared with his beloved. The door creaked open slowly and he listened as his mother pronounced the good news.

“Congratulations, Thor. You have a daughter.”

The pronouncement was followed by the scramble of four ‘feet,’ claws skittering across the marble. He looked up, finding his partner paused in the doorway, halfway between a crouch and his full height. He smiled at him brightly through his exhaustion. “Come, my Love,” he murmured, “Meet our child, your princess.”

The Thunderer staggered towards the bed, his eyes shining with tears, his wolfy grin plastered onto his face. He dropped a hand to the mattress and gave it a pat. “Come, lay beside me. Hold your child.”

The other man obeyed, shifting awkwardly to half lay, half sit beside him, his body heat providing comfort. Slowly, carefully, he shifted the bundled and sleeping babe into the other man’s massive paw-like hands. “Support her head,” he instructed, smiling tenderly, “Yes, like that. Do you have her bottom? Yes, good. Now hold her against your chest, share your warmth, for Norns know I have none.”

Thor looked terrified and exceedingly uncomfortable, holding the fragile infant in his strong hands. “Loki,” he breathed, “She looks like you - like Fenrir.”

“In the face, maybe, but she shares some of your features as well, Darling.” He leaned his head into the furry shoulder. “What shall we name your child, my Lord?” He turned to place a gentle kiss on the shoulder that he had rested his cheek upon.

“Hmm?” “I-I, um..., I don’t know, Loki.” His eyes flickered to his briefly before they both focused their attention back on their perfect child. “I can’t think of anything that would seem appropriate for a child of such standing, of such importance.”

The little girl began to whimper and shake her little fists, starling her father, who quickly handed her back to his eager, blue hands. “What did I do?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Nothing, Thor,” he breathed, pulling the sheets down to reveal his aching and leaking breasts. “She is just hungry.” He offered the child his bosom and felt her latch greedily, pulling the nutrients he created into her empty belly. “See.” He beamed at the other man, who shifted his lupine-esque form, curling around his body and sharing his heat. “She will grow to be a strong one, like her father.”

“Nay,” Thor said deep in his chest, “Like her bearer, who remains a monster to comfort her father.”

Loki’s brow furrowed and he met the other man’s loving, blue eyes. “What makes you say that?” he asked, a sinking feel in his stomach. “I am Jotunn, and that I shall always be.”

“But you can shift your form at will and yet you remain, a blue, horned monster. Do you feel like I could not handle it if you reverted back to your Aesir form? Fen shifts constantly and I find it miraculous and beautiful,” he stated, his voice still low but slightly accusatory.

“You think I am this way because I wish to make you feel comfortable?” he hissed back, fangs bared. “What if I choose to wear this form because, for the first time in my millennia of living, that I feel like my true self?” He paused. “Does that disgust you, Thor? That I like being ice and winter?”

His husband shook his head. “No, no, Loki,” he murmured, leaning closer, his hot breath causing his ridges to tingle. “I am proud of my Jotunn consort and I just wanted to be sure that you were comfortable in your form. To know that you chose it for yourself and not for me.”

He laughed, relieved but filled with mischief. “Thor,” he gasped through his chuckled, “You should know me well enough by now that I do not need your approval. _I do what I want_.”


	19. Epilogue

_Ten Years Later_

“Loki!” the sound of his lover’s voice carried through the halls, followed by the laughter of the children and their shouts of glee. He had wished that he could have been with them on their trip to the lake that he and Thor had visited in their youth but the heat was bothering him, particularly this late in his pregnancy, his time a little over a month away. He closed his book and setting it on the table beside his settee as the door banged open.

“Hello My Darlings,” he said beaming, opening his arms to his family. “How was your trip to the lake?”

Fenrir, a strapping tall boy of seventeen beamed back at him, his fangs flashing in the sunlight, presented a bouquet of half-wilted flowers to him. “Oh, such rich gifts!” he said, kissing his eldest on his lightly furred cheek and stroking his fur-lined spine. “Thank you, my Darling!” The boy snuggled into his cool embrace on his right side, allowing his attention to shift to his soon to be middle child.

“And you, Dísa, my Love? Did you have a wonderful time with your brother and your father?” She smiled back at him shyly, her own teeth, blunt except for a couple of pairs of fangs that started with her canines.

“Yes, Papa,” she said, her chocolate eyes glittering with such joy. “Daddy taught us to swim and Fenny and I caught a frog and let it go, even though I wanted to bring it home to you. He was a very nice frog.” He smiled back at her, ruffling her thick chestnut curls that tumbled down her back, pushing them away from her horn nubs. She was ten and much more like his lover than himself in regards to her rambunctious personality. She did, however, have light blue skin, chased with silvery accents, reminiscent of his ridges but not following a pattern, instead highlighting her fine bone structure. She had a small snout, barely noticeable in comparison to Thor’s, and black nails but no claws. No fur, even on her pointed ears, and no tail.

He drew her into his other side, placing a kiss on her temple. “It sounds like you had a wonderful trip.” He beamed up at his lover who sat before him, a hand on his rounded stomach.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Are you comfortable, Loki?” he asked again, fluffing and rearranging the pillows on the bed yet again. A cool hand covered his furred one.

“I am fine, Thor. Stop you fussing.” The blue man smiled his beautiful smile, squeezing his hand. “I am fine.” He watched the other man roll to his other side and grab something from the bedside table, holding it behind his back. “In fact, I am better than fine.”

He uncurled a bit and cocked his head curiously, nostrils flaring. _Nothing smells different_. “Is there a reason for that?” he queried, his curiosity peaked.

Loki’s smile became took on a mischievous quality. “Do you recall what today is, Thor?”

He closed his eyes, scrambling to remember the significance of this date in early May. _Early May_. “It is the twelfth anniversary of your return, is it not?”

“It is, and it is the fortieth of our joined monster-hood, if you recall.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “I remember.” A cool hand stroked his cheek while the other slid something heavy on his wrist.

A shock ran through his body, a sweet pain encompassing his limbs and torso before wrapping around his head. Loki’s cool fingers stopped their stroking and paused, holding his cheek. As the strange, brief pain eased, the cold hand pulled is face forward to meet icy but tender lips. _Lips. I am kissing Loki_.

His eyes snapped open with the realization, breaking to kiss with a startled cry. “Happy Anniversary, Thor,” his husband murmured. “It is but temporary, I fear, but I needed to know the touch of your lips on mine, just once.”

He raised a hand and touched his partner’s cheek, feeling the rough texture for the first time and marveling at the contrast between the deep blue and the tan of his natural skin. His free hand traced his arm and felt his face. His handsome, Aesir face, with lips and a nose. His beard was a bit unkempt, as was his hair, but it was his face. He rolled onto his back, knees bent, reveling in the lack of a tail and the ability to bend at his knees.

“What is this?” he asked, seeing the decorative gold cuff that Loki had placed on his wrist.

“I enchanted it to reveal the truth of whatever it touches. In this case, your true form.” He paused, suddenly looking a bit unsure. “Before you get any ideas, it will only last an hour upon each wearing before it will need to be recharged.”

He sat quickly, again, pleased at the lack of tail, and quickly said, “Then there is something that I must do!” He slid from the bed and knelt upon one knee, taking one of Loki’s hands in both of his, tears springing to his eyes.

“Oh, Thor,” the other man murmured, tears flooding into his ruby eyes.

He smiled tenderly. “Loki Laufeyson, the love of my life, the bearer of my children, will you do me the honor of being my consort, my husband, my partner for eternity?”

The other man smiled as he cried, the tears freezing against his skin. He nodded, his horns bobbing vigorously. His reply, however, was pure God of Mischief. “I’d say, as I lay here impregnated with your third child, that it is a bit late to turn back now.”

He chuckled joyously, and leaned carefully over the edge of the bed, taking his warm lips again with his cool pair. “Mmm,” the Jotunn hummed, “There is nothing sweeter in all the Nine than your lips.”

“I think that yours could give mine a run for their money,” he replied, deepening the kiss. It was the fastest hour of his life, of that he was certain. He was also certain that it was the best gift that he had ever been given. As his body shivered, bones reforming, tail and snout forcing themselves outward, fur erupting along his limbs and spine, Loki held him, sliding the spent cuff from his wrist and leaving his lips pressed to his, remaining even as the lips vanished, pressing a tender kiss to his wet nose.

“I love you, Thor,” the Jotunn murmured, his claws playing through his soft, golden fur.

“And I love you, Loki,” he replied, pressing his snout lovingly to the juncture of the blue man’s neck and shoulder. Carefully, he arranged his body to curl contentedly around the other man’s rounded stomach, a paw on his shoulder, a ‘hind’ leg slung over the Jotunn’s bent leg, content and happy.

_A monster and a beast, with their growing brood of beautiful creatures, he thought with a smile, wanting nothing more except maybe a pair of lips._

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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